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THE  PROPERTY  OF  THE 

AMERICAN 


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4* 


eamen's  JriettfoSbcidg, 

V  YORK,  BOSTON, 

80  Wall  Street.  13  OornhiU.  \  s, 


AVERY 
DURST, 


SEYMOUR  DURST 


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L  I  F 


E 


IN 


NEW YORK 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OV 
"THE  OLD  WHITE  MEETING-HOUKE  " 

SECOND  EDITION. 

NEW  YORK: 
ROBERT  CARTER  &  BROTHERS, 

No.  5  3  0    BROAD  IV  A  V  . 


■PS 
L5 


t 


Enterod  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  vear  1846, 
By  ROBERT  CAR"  P.R. 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  tAe  United  State*, 
for  the  Southern  District  of  New  1  ork. 


Stereotyped  by  Redfleld  &  Savaf*, 
13  Chambers  street,  N.  T. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

The  sketches  that  follow  are  drawn  from 
life,  and  there  are  those  who  will  feel  them 
to  be  true.  They  are  given  to  the  world 
that  the  interior  life  of  the  great  city  may 
be  known  to  those  that  read.  The  lesson 
will  be  useful  if  it  rouses  the  dwellers  here 
to  take  a  livelier  interest  in  devising  and 
executing  wise  and  efficient  schemes  for  the 
improvement  of  the  vicious  and  the  relief 
of  the  suffering. 

A  vast  amount  of  sympathy  is  expended 
upon  the  profligate  and  the  poor,  which  re- 
sults in  no  well-considered  efforts  to  do 
good.  This  assertion  will  not  be  regarded 
as  too  strong  by  those  who  will  explore  the 
haunts  of  vice  and  the  abodes  of  poverty 


4 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


that  abound  within  the  precincts  of  this 
metropolis. 

But  still  another  object  may  be  reached 
by  the  publication  of  these  sketches :  the 
young  in  the  country  may  learn  the  dangers 
that  lurk  in  the  city,  and  keep  away  from 
their  reach.  Life  in  the  city  has  a  charm 
that  fascinates  the  distant,  and  many  who 
have  peaceful  and  happy  homes  in  the  se- 
cluded vales  of  the  country,  are  often 
tempted  to  seek  fortune  or  pleasure  here. 
They  make  a  sad  exchange.  Peace  is  there, 
and  plenty  and  purity:  here  is  labour,  temp- 
tation, and  often  bitter  disappointments  and 
trials,  such  as  are  not  to  be  felt  in  the  quiet 
walks  they  have  forsaken. 

But  wherever  sin  is,  there  is  misery. 
There  is  no  doubt  of  this,  and  as  these 
pages  are  read,  this  truth  will  be  illustrated 
and  impressed.  That  such  may  be  the 
effect,  and  that  the  cause  of  virtue  may  be 
promoted,  is  the  single  desire  of  the  writer. 

November,  1846. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Page. 


Introductory   7 

CHAPTER  II. 
Alice  Lindon   15 

CHAPTER  III. 
Henry  Newton  and  his  Sister   31 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Simon  Wilson,  the  Drover  Boy   55 

CHAPTER  V. 
The  Barber  Broker.— Isabella   65 

CHAPTER  VI. 
The  Spanish  General's  Widow   71 

CHAPTER  VII. 
City  Charity   87 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Old  Ladies.— The  Drunkard's  Home   101 

1* 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Page. 


Hours  in  a  Madhouse   118 

CHAPTER  X. 
The  Woman  who  wanted  to  be  turned   138 

CHAPTER  XI. 
Crime  in  the  City   144 

CHAPTER  XII. 
Visit  to  a  Pirate's  Cell   152 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Statistics  of  Vice,  and  reflections  thereon   159 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
A  Nocturnal  Subterranean  Excursion   172 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Milk  in  the  Metropolis   184 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Fashionable  Club-Houses   191 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
The  Poor  in  New  York   203 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Christmas  and  New  Year's   225 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
The  Conclusion   234 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

It  does  us' good  to  know  what  sort  of  a 
world  we  live  in.  And  it  has  been  well 
and  often  said,  that  one  half  of  the  world 
know  not  how  the  other  half  live.  Every 
man  for  himself,  is  one  of  the  most  popular 
maxims  of  the  age  ;  at  least,  more  men  act 
upon  it  than  upon  that  other  a>nd  better  pre- 
cept— "  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as 
thyself."  And  there  is  no  part  of  the  world 
where  this  supreme  selfishness  is  more  uni- 
versal, where  it  is  even  a  virtue  in  the  eyes 
of  more,  than  in  a  great  city.  You  live, 
and  move,  and  sicken,  and  die,  while  your 
next-door  neighbour,  perhaps,  knows  noth- 


3 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


ing  of  you,  till  he  sees  the  hearse  and  car- 
riages at  your  funeral. 

I  heard  a  story  the  other  day,  of  a  French- 
man standing  on  the  dock  and  seeing  a  man 
struggling  in  the  water  for  his  life.  The 
man  sank  and  was  drowned,  and  the  French- 
man, in  great  distress,  bewailed  his  sad  fate, 
and  expressed  his  regret  that  he  had  never 
been  introduced  to  the  poor  fellow,  as  he 
might  have  saved  him  if  he  had  only  had 
the  honour  of  his  acquaintance.  Such 
Frenchmen  as  this  are  very  numerous  in 
these  parts.  And  many  of  them  never  saw 
France.  Because  we  have  no  personal  re- 
lationship, no  ties  of  blood  or  business  to 
bind  us  to  those  about  us,  and  not  even  the 
brotherhood  of  common  acquaintance,  we 
let  the  world  look  out  for  itself,  while  we 
flatter  ourselves  that  it  is  of  no  importance 
to  us  what  becomes  of  the  rest,  if  we  are 
but  well  used.  This  is  the  humanity  of  the 
city.  Well  might  the  poet  of  Israel  ask, 
"  Lord,  what  is  man  that  thou  art  mindful 
of  him  ?"   He  is  not  mindful  of  his  fellow ! 


INTRODUCTORY. 


9 


He  cares  not  for  the  misery  that  weeps  at 
his  door,  for  the  poverty  that  hides  in  the 
cellar  hard  hy  the  princely  mansion  in  which 
he  dwells,  nor  the  vice  that  riots  around  the 
corner,  and  makes  a  hell  in  his  very  neigh- 
bourhood. Provided  always,  that  this  mis- 
ery, and  poverty,  and  vice,  will  keep  still,  and 
make  no  disturbance  ;  but,  look  out  there, 
if  wretchedness  groans  too  loudly,  or  beg- 
gary becomes  too  clamorous,  or  vice  too 
noisy,  then  our  modern  philanthropist  be- 
stirs himself,  and  is  wonderfully  considerate 
of  the  state  of  things,  and  of  the  times,  and 
talks  of  the  need  of  reform,  of  systematic 
benevolence,  and  a  vigilant  police,  and  all 
that,  till  he  is  delivered  of  the  nuisance 
which  he  just  now  endured.  It  is  one  of 
the  boasts  of  our  day,  that  we  have  an  origi- 
nal plan  for  doing  everything  in  the  right 
way ;  and  as  all  these  matters  are  attended 
to  by  associations,  there  is  nothing  left  for 
individuals.  Of  course,  they  are  not  under 
the  necessity  of  troubling  themselves  about 
the  wants  or  woes  of  other  people.  The 


10 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


"  Society"  will  look  after  that.  This  is  a 
good,  and  then  there  are  evils  growing  out 
of  it.  Individual  responsibility  is  merged 
in  the  mass,  and  lost  sight  of ;  but  the  work 
is  better  done,  beyond  a  doubt,  than  if  it 
were  left  to  the  impulses  of  those  who  feel. 
I  have  no  heart  to  join  in  the  cry  now  fre- 
quently raised  by  our  modern  reformers 
against  the  institutions  of  society,  as  if  these 
made  paupers  and  criminals,  and  then  left 
them  to  look  after  themselves.  Society  is 
organized  well  enough.  The  plan  is  good, 
and  needs  no  infusion  of  Fourierism  to 
make  it  better.  The  plan  is  good,  and  the 
body  politic  will  be  improved  as  the  Bible 
is  more  and  more  read  and  believed.  But 
there  is  a  shocking  want  of  humanity,  of 
feeling  for  one's  own  kind,  in  this  commu- 
nity.   There's  no  doubt  of  it. 

Look  at  the  throngs  of  the  young — 
"young  men  and  maidens"  —  flocking  in 
the  broadest  and  slipperiest  road  that  leads 
to  the  bottomless  pit.  You  can  not  step 
into  Broadway  after  nightfall  without  seeing 


INTRODUCTORY. 


11 


them.  They  are  tripping  it  down  to  the 
rayless  dungeon  of  eternal  wo,  as  lightly 
and  madly  as  if  it  were  not  the  dance  of 
death  !  Thousands  of  them,  ten  thousands 
of  them,  are  within  the  sound  of  the  fire- 
bell,  and  every  time  it  tolls,  it  sounds  the 
knell  of  some  of  their  immortal,  priceless 
souls.  But  who  cares  !  Who  of  the  un- 
counted Christians  of  this  proud  city  has 
the  burden  of  these  wretched  candidates  for 
judgment  on  his  conscience?  How  many 
of  them  might  say,  when  the  brief  career 
of  sin  is  ended,  and  grim  death  dashes  their 
cup  of  folly  to  the  ground,  "  No  man  cared 
for  my  soul.11 

We  look  at  them  in  the  mass.  It  is  not 
so  easy  to  feel  for  a  crowd  as  for  a  single 
subject  of  pity.  If  we  should  stop  one  of 
these  children  of  guilt  and  shame,  and  hear 
her  story,  we  should  feel  for  her.  She  has 
or  had  a  mother ;  she  has  a  sister ;  the 
hearthstone  was  bright  once  with  the  light 
of  her  eye.  I  have  somewhere  in  my  pa- 
pers a  story  that,  when  it  was  a  terrible 


12 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


reality  before  me,  made  the  tears  come 
often,  and  if  you  will  read  it,  you  shall 
know  more  of  "life  in  the  city"  than  now. 
If  you  should  go  down,  after  dark,  into 

that  basement,  close  by  the   theatre, 

and  knock  softly  at  the  door,  it  would  be 
opened  quietly,  and  you  should  walk  by  the 
light  of  a  single  lamp,  through  a  long  and 
narrow  passage,  a  slide  door  would  admit 
you  to  a  room  where  twenty  men  are  sitting 
sullenly  silent,  as  if  dead.  One  starts  from 
the  table  mad  with  disappointment,  and 
stung  with  shame,  and  rushes  out  of  the 
room.  The  game  goes  on.  These  are  gam- 
blers. This  whole  row  is  filled  with  such 
saloons  as  this,  and  nightly  they  are  haunted 
by  men  who  play  for  passion  or  for  gain, 
"  Hells,"  they  are  called.  A  fitter  name 
the  language  has  not.  I  have  a  story  of 
one  who  perished  here ;  would  you  like  to 
read  it? 

What  a  city  is  this  !  Somebody  has 
written  of  London  as  a  great  maelstrom  in 
which  the  young  are  caught  and  whirled ; 


INTRODUCTORY. 


13 


pleased  with  the  giddy  rush  around  the 
outer  circle  of  this  mighty  whirlpool,  they 
smile  at  danger,  till  at  last  they  are  intoxi- 
cated with  the  motion,  sucked  into  the  aw- 
ful vortex,  dashed  upon  the  fatal  rocks,  and 
thrown  out  upon  the  surface,  bruised  and 
mangled  corpses.  I  would  rather  speak  of 
New  York,  under  a  figure  drawn  from  the 
borders  of  our  own  state.  The  youth  who 
enters  it  glides  smoothly  along,  as  on  a  gen- 
tly descending  stream,  whose  banks  are 
clothed  with  verdure  and  gemmed  with 
flowers ;  onward  and  downward  floats  his 
bark ;  he  is  in  the  rapids  now,  but  he  loves 
his  danger,  hears  with  mad  joy  the  roar  of 
the  mighty  cataract  below;  laughs  at  the 
mists  that  rise  like  pillars  of  cloud  to  warn 
him  that  destruction  is  near ;  he  plies  the 
oar  with  fiercer  strength,  as  if  the  lightning 
speed  of  the  dashing  current  were  too  slow 
for  him  ;  on,  on,  down,  down  ;  the  brink  is 
gained  ;  one  wild  hurrah  rises  above  the  tor- 
rent's voice,  and  the  young  voyager  makes 

the  final,  fatal,  returnless  plunge. 

2 


14 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


Keep  away  from  the  water,  ye  youth, 
who  would  not  perish  in  the  waves.  It  is 
no  place  for  you  who  have  a  safe  and  happy 
home  on  shore. 

But  instead  of  moralizing  any  farther, 
listen  to  a  story  of  life  in  the  city.  If  parts 
of  it  read  like  fiction,  remember  that  truth 
is  stranger  than  fiction,  and  more  full  of 
wisdom. 


ALICE  LINDON. 


15 


CHAPTER  II. 

ALICE  LINDON. 

The  village  in  which  she  was  born  and 
where  she  lived  till  "  sweet  sixteen,"  is  on 
the  Connecticut  river,  but  how  near  its 
union  with  the  Sound  I  may  not  say.  Nor 
does  the  little  cluster  of  white  cottages,  one 
of  which  was  the  home  of  her  childhood, 
scarcely  aspire  to  the  name  of  village. 
There  is  the  meetinghouse,  with  a  spire 
pointing  to  the  skies,  of  which  the  house  of 
God  is  the  gate ;  but  the  most  of  the  wor- 
shippers came  from  the  country-side,  miles 
around  ;  there  is  a  small  "  inn,"  where  the 
traveller  may  stop  for  rest  and  refreshment, 
and  there  are  a  few  shops  to  supply  the 
wants  of  the  neighbours  ;  and  then  a  few 
neat  houses,  showing  comfort  without  wealth, 


L6 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


peace  which  is  plenty  ;  and  here  was  the 
birthplace  of  Alice  Lindon. 

Her  own  home  stood  in  a  sweet  cove 
back  from  the  river,  a  bosom  of  water  and 
shore  that  seemed  the  very  chosen  spot  for 
domestic  love  to  hide  itself  and  dwell.  A 
green  lawn,  with  a  rude  enclosure,  stretched 
in  front  of  the  cottage  to  the  shore ;  great 
trees  stood  around  the  house,  affording 
fruit  and  shade,  and  the  soft  banks  of  the 
stream  invited  the  child  of  Nature  to  wan- 
der on  them  and  enjoy  the  beauty  which 
the  full  hand  of  Nature  had  spread  over 
the  rich  and  romantic  scene.  In  very  child- 
hood, Alice  had  discovered  a  fondness  for 
the  charms  with  which  she  was  surrounded. 
Long  before  her  mind  was  expanded  by 
reading,  or  by  intercourse  with  the  world, 
she  had  learned  to  love  God's  world  ;  the 
landscape  radiant  with  his  smiles  ;  the  water 
sparkling  in  his  light  by  day,  and  reflecting 
his  stars  by  night ;  the  hill  and  dale  that 
were  covered  with  his  bounty  and  spoke 
ever  of  his  love  :  these  were  the  scenes 


ALICE  L1ND0N. 


17 


with  which  Alice  was  familiar  and  happy 
in  the  sunny  hours  of  her  childhood. 

The  death  of  her  father,  when  she  was 
but  ten  years  old,  left  her  solely  to  the  care 
of  her  widowed  mother,  and  having  no 
brothers  or  sisters  with  whom  to  share  her 
sorrows  or  the  joys  of  her  young  heart,  she 
was  always  with  her  mother,  except  when 
abroad  in  the  fields,  or  on  the  banks  of  the 
gentle  river  that  ever  lay  at  her  feet.  Mrs. 
Lindon  had  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  ed- 
ucation and  society,  when  she  was  young, 
and  though  her  removal  to  this  rural  retreat 
and  her  straitened  circumstances  had  de- 
prived her  of  pleasures  for  which  she  had 
tastes  and  capacities,  she  had  never  de- 
spaired of  training  her  only  child  for  higher 
enjoyments  and  wider  usefulness  than  could 
be  hers  in  the  secluded  hamlet  where  she 
was  born.  It  had  therefore  been  the  aim 
of  Mrs.  Lindon,  for  many  years  of  industry 
and  economy,  to  lay  aside  the  means  to  en- 
able her  to  give  Alice  an  education,  such  as 
should  fit  her  to  do  good  in  another  sphere. 
2* 


18 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


It  was  plain  to  a  watchful  mother,  that 
there  was  much  in  Alice  that  would  attract 
the  attention  and  secure  the  admiration  of 
the  world,  should  she  enter  upon  its  scenes  ; 
and  as  the  grace  of  God  had  never  renewed 
the  heart  of  the  sweet  girl,  it  is  not  strange 
that  Mrs.  Lindon  should  tremble  at  the 
thought  of  sending  her  away  from  home  at 
her  tender  age.  For  Alice  was  now  sixteen, 
and  had  no  other  means  of  instruction  than 
her  mother  and  the  village-school  could 
give  her,  and  it  was  important,  without  any 
further  delay,  that  she  should  go  abroad  to 
enjoy  those  advantages  which  the  higher 
seminaries  alone  could  afford. 

That  was  an  anxious  hour,  both  to  mother 
and  daughter,  when  Alice  Lindon  took  leave 

of  the  parental  roof  for  the  city  of  , 

where  she  was  to  board  with  a  relative  of 
her  mother,  and  attend  an  excellent  school, 
in  which  she  would  have  every  opportunity 
of  obtaining  a  finished  education,  under 
teachers  of  wide  and  well-earned  popularity. 
The  first  appearance  of  Alice  in  the  school- 


ALICE  LINDON. 


19 


room  was  an  era  in  it.  The  loveliness  of 
her  form  and  features,  the  meek  simplicity 
of  her  manners,  fashioned  by  no  rule  but 
the  good  sense  of  her  mother  and  her  own 
native  gentleness,  and  with  these  traits  the 
freedom  which  life  in  the  country  had  in- 
spired, rendered  her  at  once  an  object  of 
attention,  and  it  was  not  many  days  before 
she  was  known  as  the  flower  of  the  school. 

The  strong  anxieties  of  the  mother  were 
in  a  great  measure  relieved  when  she  heard 
that  Alice  was  a  favorite  with  her  teachers, 
and  an  object  of  solicitude  and  kindness 
with  all  who  became  acquainted  with  her. 
Yet  these  were  the  very  evidences  that  she 
was  in  danger.  Alice's  heart  was  open  as 
the  day  ;  her  spirit  leaped  at  the  voice  of 
friendship,  and  she  had  never  known  in  the 
sanctuary  of  her  childhood  and  the  purity 
of  her  early  home,  that  there  was  deceit  in 
this  fair  world  ;  and  now  that  she  was  on 
the  gayer  walks  of  life,  it  seemed  that  she 
had  found  more  to  love  and  trust,  and  she 
learned  to  be  happier  than  on  the  banks  of 


20 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


the  river  and  under  the  trees  of  her  native 
village.  And  true  it  is  that  danger  often 
lies  where  we  least  suspect  its  presence. 
Mrs.  Lindon's  friend,  who  had  offered  Alice 
a  home  with  her  while  she  should  be  at 
school,  had  done  a  similar  favour  to  another 
friend  who  had  wished  to  place  a  son  at 
college,  and  in  the  fondness  of  her  heart 
she  had  thought  that  Edward  Murray  would 
prove  a  pleasant  companion  and  friend  to 
Alice  Lindon,  during  the  time  that  they 
made  her  house  their  home. 

It  is  not  my  inclination,  nor  does  it  com- 
port with  my  notions  of  propriety,  to  follow 
in  detail  the  facts  that  marked  the  year 

which  Alice  Lindon  spent  in   .  Her 

new  acquaintance,  Edward  Murray,  was  a 
spoiled  child  from  New  York,  a  model  of 
virtue  in  the  eyes  of  his  doating  parents, 
and  a  "  bad  boy,"  as  everybody  else  knew 
full  well.  He  had  trifled  away  his  early 
years  in  boarding-schools,  till  he  was  now 
eighteen,  and  had  been  at  home  enough  in 
the  city  to  learn  the  world,  to  love  many  of 


ALICE  LINDON. 


its  vices,  which  in  secret  he  indulged,  while 
to  his  parents  he  seemed  all  that  their  hearts 
desired.  His  free  and  easy  manners  ren- 
dered his  society  agreeable,  and  practice 
had  made  him  early  perfect  in  those  soft  ac- 
complishments that  secure  a  young  man  a 
cordial  welcome  in  the  social  circle. 

It  was  a  new  wrorld  to  Alice,  when  the 
winning  voice  of  Edward  Murray  whispered 
in  her  ear  that  he  loved  her  ;  she  had  heard 
his  praises  from  her  young  companions,  and 
thought  he  was  a  worthy  young  man,  who 
took  pleasure  in  reading  to  her  and  her  aunt, 
who  was  happy  when  he  could  aid  her  in 
her  lessons,  or  escort  her  to  and  from  church 
of  an  evening.  All  this  was  very  well,  and 
she  thought  no  more  of  it,  than  of  other 
kindnesses  which  everybody  seemed  glad 
to  show  her.  But  her  young  heart  fluttered 
anxiously  when  Edward  breathed  into  her 
ear  the  gentle  confession  that  she  was  dear 
to  him,  and  that  he  would  live  to  make  her 
happy.  She  believed  him,  and  why  should 


22 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


she  not  ?  No  one  had  ever  deceived  her, 
and  why  should  she  doubt  ? 

But  he  did  deceive  her,  to  her  ruin.  Un- 
der the  flattering  pretext  of  an  invitation  to 
his  father's  house,  she  followed  him  to  the 
city  of  New  Yorkt  and  there  he  left  her  in 
wretchedness  and  shame  ;  without  a  shelter 
or  a  friend. 

This  is  crowding  into  a  few  lines  what 
would  naturally  fill  many  of  these  pages, 
and  make  a  tale  of  sin  and  misery  to  harrow 
the  heart. 

Alice  woke  to  a  sense  of  her  utter  aban- 
donment. A  stranger  in  a  great  city,  and 
without  the  means  of  flying  from  it,  what 
should  she  do  "?  She  thought  of  home  !  O 
that  she  were  there  in  the  innocence  of  her 
childhood,  happy  in  the  smiles  of  those  she 
loved,  thoughtless  of  care,  and  with  a  heart 
flowing  over  ever  with  the  purest  joy  !  She 
thought  of  her  mother !  How  she  would 
love  to  fall  on  her  breast  and  confess  her 
sins  and  be  forgiven  !  Before  this,  and  that 
mother  must  have  heard  that  she  had  been 


ALICE  LINDON. 


23 


deceived  and  lost;  and  could  a  mother  live, 
with  the  terrible  consciousness  that  her 
daughter,  her  idol,  her  all,  had  fallen  into 
the  snare  of  the  destroyer  ?  Wrung  with 
anguish,  and  distracted  with  such  thoughts 
as  these  that  crowded  upon  her  brain,  Alice 
was  ready  to  hasten  to  her  mother,  and  bury 
herself  in  the  unfathomed  depths  of  a  moth- 
er's love.  But  how  could  she  go,  and  ought 
she  to  expect  forgiveness  if  she  did  ? 

In  the  midst  of  this  conflict  of  soul,  she 
is  found  by  a  minister  of  vice,  one  whose 
business  it  is  to  find  victims  for  the  daily 
sacrifice  on  the  altars  of  sin  in  the  gay  and 
guilty  city  of  New  York.  A  shelter  was 
offered,  and  that  was  more  than  Alice  had. 
Again  the  wiles  of  the  wicked  were  thrown 
around  her,  and  the  prey  was  easy.  Down 
the  dark  road  of  guilt  and  shame  she  trav- 
elled swiftly  —  a  sight  to  make  the  angels 
weep  ! 

Oh  !  if  there  was  sorrow  in  heaven  when 
the  pure  spirits  that  shone  with  celestial 
brightness  around  the  spotless  throne  were 


24 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITT. 


seduced  to  sin  and  hell ;  if  the  angels  that 
stood  steadfast  in  their  integrity  wept,  when 
those  they  loved  broke  away  from  their  holy 
worship  and  wrapped  their  seraphic  charms 
in  the  robes  of  the  damned,  may  we  not 
weep  when  such  as  Alice  Lindon  fall  ! 
God  have  mercy  on  her;  though,  alas,  how 
true  that  such  as  she,  like  angels,  fall  to 
rise  again  no  more  !  Her  steps  take  hold 
on  hell ! 

######** 
Three  years  pass  away.  "In  my  rounds 
of  duty,"  says  a  city  minister,  who  furnishes 
the  facts,  "I  was  walking  in  one  of  the  mis- 
erable streets  of  the  city,  when  a  woman 
came  up  to  me,  and  asked  if  I  would  call 
and  see  a  girl  that  was  sick  and  likely  to 
die.  I  told  her  to  lead  the  way,  and  I 
would  follow  her  at  once. 

"  She  turned  into  a  narrow  alley  between 
two  houses  of  doubtful  reputation,  and  by 
the  back  way  led  me  in  and  up  two  flights 
of  stairs  to  a  little  attic  chamber.  It  was 
not  a  comfortless  room  :  the  floor  had  a 


ALICE  LINDON. 


25 


strip  of  carpet  reaching  from  the  door  to 
the  bed  ;  a  chair  or  two  stood  there,  and 
the  faded  curtains  and  broken  mirror  were 
signs  of  what  would  be  called  the  '  shabby 
genteel.'  The  woman  who  acted  as  my 
guide  had  told  me,  on  my  way  up  stairs, 
that  'the  sick  girl  had  been  suddenly  taken 
with  a  fever,  and  they  thought  of  having  her 
sent  to  the  poorhouse  ;  but  she  begged  so 
hard  to  stay,  and  seemed  like  to  die  so  soon, 
that  they  thought  they  would  wait  a  little 
and  see.  Sometimes  she  seems  to  be  ra- 
ving, and  goes  on  like  mad  about  her  moth- 
er, and  all  that ;  but,  poor  things,  they  all 
cry  when  they  come  to  be  sick,  and  want 
to  go  home  and  die.' 

"  Stretched  on  the  bed,  with  a  flushed 
cheek,  and  a  wildly-flashing,  brilliant  eye, 
lay  a  young  woman  who,  it  was  plain  to 
see,  had  been  a  beauty  in  her  day. 

"  She  turned  her  face  toward  the  wall  as 
I  entered,  and  shut  her  eyes ;  but  the  tears 
would  find  their  way  through  the  closed 
3 


26 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


lids,  and  I  saw  the  pilovvs  had  been  wet  with 
her  weeping  before  I  came. 

"  '  Here's  the  minister,'  said  my  guide  ; 
1  you  wanted  to  see  him,  and  T  just  asked 
him  to  call,  as  I  saw  him  going  along  the 
street.' 

"  '  O,  the  minister,  is  it ;  I  am  so  glad 
he  is  come.  O  can't  you  do  something  for 
me,  for  my  poor  soul  ?  I  shall  die  and  go 
to  hell,  and  I  ought  to  go  to  hell !  What 
shall  I  do  V 

"  She  paused,  and  turned  her  full  eyes 
upon  me,  with  an  imploring  look  that  went 
to  my  heart.  An  image  of  despair  !  A 
lost  one  !  I  thought  of  the  '  archangel 
ruined,'  in  Milton  !  and  the  hopelessness 
of  the  case  before  me  seemed  to  defy  the 
words  of  consolation  which  it  is  so  sweet  to 
offer  to  the  dying.  But  I  would  try.  I 
thought  of  the  thief  on  the  cross ;  of  the 
Magdalene  in  the  gospel,  from  whom  seven 
devils  were  cast  by  the  power  of  the  same 
Saviour  whom  I  could  preach  to  this  pos- 
sessed; and  I  began — 


ALICE  LINDON. 


27 


"  1  You  have  heard  of  the  way  to  find  for- 
giveness through  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,' 
I  asked,  by  way  of  introducing  the  subject. 

"  '  O,  yes.  When  I  was  a  little  girl  at 
home,  my  mother  used — '  and  she  could 
go  no  further,  but  burst  into  a  flood  of  im- 
passioned tears. 

"  1  Then  you  have  a  mother  —  what  is 
your  name  ?' 

"  She  soon  became  more  composed,  and 
on  my  again  asking  of  her  early  history, 
she  gave  me  the  facts  which  are  mentioned 
in  the  previous  part  of  this  sketch. 

"  This  was  Alice  Lindon  ;  and  here  was 
the  idol  of  a  fond  mother,  the  flower  of  the 
school,  and  now  a  worn  and  wretched  thing,  • 
cast  out  of  the  world's  sympathies,  and  dy- 
ing in  misery,  to  meet  misery  ineffable  in  a 
world  of  wo.  Poor  girl  !  My  heart  ached 
for  her,  and  I  asked  again  if  her  mother 
knew  where  she  was. 

"  1  No,  sir.    I  came  to  this  city  from 

 ,  three  years  ago,  and  if  my  mother 

has  tried  to  find  me,  as  I  know  she  has,  it 


2S 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


has  done  no  good.  I  have  often  thought 
of  writing  to  her  ;  but  I  was  so  wicked  that 
I  could  not  bear  to  tell  her  where  I  was,  it 
would  be  so  much  worse  than  to  think  me 
dead.  Dead  !  dead  !  yes,  I  shall  soon  be 
dead,  and  then  where  will  my  poor  soul  be?' 

"  With  the  simplicity  and  solemn  ear- 
nestness that  the  time  and  the  circumstan- 
ces seemed  to  demand,  I  then  preached  re- 
pentance to  this  perishing  sinner.  She 
drank  in  the  words,  as  the  words  of  eternal 
life.  The  truth  seemed  familiar,  as  if  the 
memory  of  things  past  were  coming  back, 
and  a  ray  of  hope  was  rising  on  the  gloom 
of  her  dark  spirit.  When  I  had  spoken 
of  sin  and  its  just  demerit  —  of  the  wrath  of 
God  and  the  curse  of  the  law,  which  con- 
demns the  sinner  to  everlasting  death,  I  ad- 
ded, *  But  you  know  it  is  a  faithful  saying, 
that  Jesus  Christ  came  into  the  world  to 
save  even  the  chief  of  sinners.' 

"  1  W^hat  is  that,'  she  said  ;  '  please  to 
repeat  those  words  again.  I  have  heard 
them  before.' 


ALICE  LINDON. 


20 


"  I  told  her  they  were  the  words  of  the 
Bible  which  she  had  often  read  and  heard, 
and  they  were  the  words  on  which  now  de- 
pends the  salvation  of  her  precious  soul. 
Vile  as  she  had  been,  the  fulness  of  Christ's 
love  would  meet  her  case,  if  she  would  trust 
in  it. 

"  Having  exhausted  all  my  strength  of 
persuasion,  and  having  conversed  with  her 
until  it  was  evident  that  her  ow«n  strength 
would  not  allow  me  to  prolong  the  inter- 
view, I  prayed  with  her  and  left  her.  The 
servant  woman  who  had  brought  me  up, 
showed  me  the  way  out,  and  I  besought 
her  to  make  the  last  days  of  the  poor  thing 
as  comfortable  as  she  could. 

"  1  She  wont  last  long,'  said  she  ;  'she'll 
get  a  raving  in  the  night,  and,  like  as  any 
way,  drop  right  off  in  a  minute.' 

"  True  enough.  J  was  haunted  all  night 
with  thoughts  of  the  blighted  soul  of  that 
once  lovely  and  lost  child,  and  the  very 
next  day  made  a  visit  to  the  house. 

"  The  woman  met  me  in  the  alley,  and 
3* 


30 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITT. 


said  :  '  It  is  all  up  with  her.  She  died  in 
the  night,  screaming  for  her  mother.' 

"  They  sent  for  a  coroner,  I  believe,  and 
the  almshouse  department  sent  her  frail  body 
to  the  Potter's  field." 

A  sad  tale.  But  it  has  itself  repeated  in 
hundreds  of  cases  every  year.  There  is 
misery  in  this  world  that  we  know  nothing 
of.  There  are  hearts  now  breaking,  which 
never  find  sympathy  in  ours,  for  we  know 
not  of  their  sorrows.  But  in  the  midst  of 
us  are  children  of  wretchedness,  who  weep 
in  secret,  and  die  in  secret,  and  on  their 
wounds  the  oil  of  mercy  never  comes. 

Sin  is  its  source.  The  way  of  transgres- 
sors is  hard.  Jt  may  seem  fair  and  right, 
but  its  end  is  death,  its  end  is  hell. 

The  path  of  virtue  is  peace.  It  leads  to 
love  and  heaven  ;  it  is  a  bright  way;  its 
flowers  fade  not ;  its  waters  are  sweet,  and 
pure,  and  perennial.  Angels  are  in  it,  the 
guardian  spirits  of  the  young  who  walk  in 
it ;  and  God  our  Saviour  holds  the  pilgrim 
in  his  hand,  and  guides  him  up  to  glory. 


HENRY  NEWTON  AND  HIS  SISTER.  31 


CHAPTER  III. 

HENRY  NEWTON  AND  HIS  SISTER. 

It  is  nearly  a  year  since — it  was  late  in 
the  autumn  of  last  year — that  I  was  walk- 
ing down  M  street  late  in  the  evening. 

The  night  was  bitterly  cold  ;  a  winter  storm 
just  struggling  on;  the  very  night  when  a 
man  likes  to  be  snug  in  his  own  bed  at  home. 
Yet  it  does  make  him  easy  in  the  cold  to 
think  that  a  glowing  grate  will  smile  on  him 
shortly,  and  a  warm  room  make  him  forget 
the  blasts  of  a  damp,  cold  night.  It  must 
be  very  hard  to  be  poor  in  the  city,  to  have 
no  well-filled  coal-hole,  nor  any  grate  to 
huddle  over  when  the  stinging  frost  finds  its 
way  to  your  bones.    It  must  be  very  hard. 

I  was  hastening  homeward,  and  had  taken 
this  obscure  street  as  a  short-cut — my  cloak 
drawn  closely  around  my  face  to  shield  it 


32 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


from  the  driving  wind  and  the  sleet  that 
every  now  and  then  rattled  against  the  houses, 
when  a  feeble  tremulous  voice  fell  on  my  ear. 
Opening  my  cloak,  and  pushing  up  my  hat 
to  hear  what  was  said,  I  perceived  a  young 
lady  closely  wrapped  in  shawl  and  hood, 
who  spoke  to  me  again: — 

"Sir,  can  you  tell  me  which  is  No.  26 
of  this  street?" 

"I  think  I  can  find  it  for  you,"  said  I, 
"but  are  you  sure  that  you  are  in  the  street 
you  are  looking  for  ?  This  is  a  rough  place 
for  you  to  be  in  alone  at  this  time  of  night." 

"I  know  it,"  she  replied,  "but  I  have 
business  here  that  would  take  me  into  a 
worse  place  than  this,  could  I  only  find  the 
object  of  my  search." 

Of  course  I  was  too  much  interested  in 
the  deep  earnestness  of  her  tone,  the  evident 
sincerity  of  her  purpose,  and  doubtless  too 
curious  as  to  the  errand  that  brought  her 
there,  to  hesitate  a  moment  about  offering 
to  aid  her  in  finding  the  number  for  which 
she  required.    Walking  up  a  flight  of  steps 


HENRY  NEWTON  AND  HIS  SISTER.  33 


by  the  nearest  lamp,  I  discovered  that  we 
were  half  a  mile  from  the  place  she  was 
seeking,  as  she  had  come  to  the  wrong  end 
of  the  street;  but  it  was  right  on  my  way, 
and  I  therefore  was  unable  to  persuade  my- 
self into  a  bit  of  romantic  benevolence  in 
offering  to  show  her  the  house.  We  walk- 
ed on  together.  And  I  remarked,  for  the 
sake  of  saying  something: — 

"  Certainly  you  can  not  be  very  familiar 
with  the  city,  or  you  would  be  afraid  to  be 
out  after  dark  in  this  vicinity." 

"O,"  said  she,  "I  see  that  you  will  not 
believe  that  I  have  anything  good  in  view, 
unless  I  tell  you  the  dreadful  business  that 
calls  me  here.  You  spoke  so  kindly  to  me, 
that  I  felt  it  safe  to  trust  myself  to  your 
direction,  and  now  I  could  tell  you  my 
trouble." 

"I  would  not  for  the  world  have  you  do 
violence  to  your  sense  of  propriety  in  men- 
tioning to  a  stranger  what  he  has  no  right  to 
know ;  but  if  I  could  be  of  any  service  to 
you,  if  your  errand  is  of  such  a  nature  that 


34 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


my  attention  would  be  any  relief  to  your 
feelings,  it  will  give  me  real  pleasure  to  as- 
sist you." 

A  sudden  thought  struck  her.  "  You 
can  :  I  was  wondering  how  I  should  get  in, 
when  I  found  the  house,  but  if  you  are  at 
home  in  the  city,  you  can  perhaps  help  me." 

" Cheerfully,"  said  I;  "proceed  with 
your  story,  as  we  shall  soon  be  there." 

"  I  am  going  for  my  brother,"  she  re- 
marked. "He  was  to  have  been  home  at 
ten  o'clock,  but  he  did  not  come,  and  I 
waited  till  eleven,  and  as  he  did  not  return, 
I  am  going  to  find  him.  He  has  got  into 
the  way  of  playing  billiards  lately,  and  sev- 
eral times  he  has  been  out  almost  all  night, 
and  when  he  has  come  in,  he  is  in  a  dread- 
ful state.  He  has  promised  me  often  that 
he  never  would  do  so  again,  and  has  told 
me  where  it  is  that  he  has  been  in  the  habit 
of  going,  and  I  am  afraid  he  is  there  now. 
He  seems  to  have  such  a  passion  for  play, 
that  he  will  go,  though  I  think  he  tries  hard 
sometimes  to  get  over  it." 


HENRY  NEWTON  AND  HIS  SISTER.  35 


We  walked  on  in  silence,  while  I  thought 
of  the  whole  story  of  wretchedness  and  ruin 
in  that  short  narrative.  She  had  given  me 
the  outline  of  it  only.  I  could  fill  it  up 
without  her  aid,  it  was  so  like  so  many  that 
I  had  heard  before.  It  will  help  the  reader 
to  feel  the  sequel,  if  I  here  mention  what 
was  afterward  related  to  me  by  this  new 
companion  of  my  night  walk. 

It  was  the  same  story  that  you  have  read. 
Perhaps  you  know  it  already,  or  another 
like  it.  Henry  Newton  was  the  son  of  a 
country  merchant,  and  one  or  two  visits 
with  his  father  to  the  city  to  buy  goods,  had 
given  him  a  taste  for  the  freer  life  that  was 
to  be  led  in  its  gayer  streets,  and  he  grew 
sick  of  the  counter  and  the  country  al- 
together. He  was  nearly  a  man  in  his  years, 
and  thought  he  should  prefer  to  go  into  busi- 
ness in  the  great  city,  where  fortunes  were 
soon  made,  and  then  he  would  come  back 
into  the  country,  and  settle.  An  easy  fa- 
ther yielded  to  his  son's  importunities,  and 
made  arrangements  with  an  old  and  well- 


36 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


known  firm  in  New  York,  with  which  he 
had  long  done  business,  to  take  Henry  into 
their  store  ;  for  though  he  had  no  relish  for 
the  confinement  of  business  there  was  nc 
other  way  of  gratifying  his  desire  for  the 
city.  But  were  there  no  other  ties  than 
those  of  home  to  keep  this  youth  away  from 
the  great  metropolis  ? 

Henry  had  one  more  call  to  make  before 
he  could  leave  the  village.  Mary  Wilton 
had  been  his  friend  from  childhood.  He 
had  grown  up  by  her  side ;  had  played  with 
her  every  day  of  his  life  almost,  at  school 
and  at  home,  Saturday  afternoons  always ; 
had  carried  her  basket,  helped  her  over  the 
fences,  made  all  her  quarrels  his,  and  as 
they  grew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  period 
of  youth,  she  had  seemed  less  like  his  sister 
and  more  like  one  dearer  than  a  sister.  Hen- 
ry thought  he  loved  her,  and  that  he  could 
never  live  without  her,  and  never,  till  he 
had  a  taste  of  the  city,  did  he  dream  of  any 
pleasure  that  had  not  Mary  Wilton  for  its 
light  and  joy.    He  was  now  on  his  way  to 


HENRY  NEWTON  AND  HIS  SISTER.  37 


bid  her  farewell,  and  had  never  thought  till 
that  moment  how  hard  it  would  be  to  part 
with  the  friend  of  his  childhood  and  youth; 
his  heart  was  sad,  and  he  was  wishing  that 
he  had  said  nothing  about  the  city,  but  had 
lived  always  in  the  same  street  with  Mary 
Wilton.  He  found  her  in  tears,  and  not 
very  sorry  was  he  thus  to  find  her.  It  was 
a  fond  assurance  that  she  loved  him  ;  he 
was  happy  in  the  thought  that  she  would  be 
his  when  he  should  return  from  the  city, 
and  claim  her  for  his  own. 

u  Then  why  must  you  go?"  she  asked, 
as  he  told  her  he  was  sorry  that  the  hour  of 
parting  had  come  at  last.  "  Why  leave  us 
and  our  sweet  home  for  strange  faces  and 
strange  places?    Why  will  you  go  ?" 

"  We  shall  never  be  anything  if  we  stay 
here,"  he  replied.  "There  is  nothing  to 
be  made  in  the  way  of  business;  but  a  few 
years  in  New  York,  if  I  am  successful,  will 
put  us  in  the  way  of  wealth,  and  then  I  can 
give  my  Mary  such  a  home  as  she  deserves." 

"  I  want  no  better  home  than  this,  or  even 


38 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITT. 


one  more  humble  would  answer  could  I  but 
share  it  with  you,"  said  Mary,  and  she  wept 
at  the  boldness  of  her  speech,  which  was 
in  fact  a  fuller  declaration  of  her  own  heart 
than  she  had  ever  ventured  to  make  before. 

"But  I  shall  often  be  home  to  see  you, 
Mary;  every  summer  I  shall  spend  the 
month  of  August  here,  and  the  holydays  in 
winter  will  bring  me  back  to  your  side. 
Come  now,  dry  up  your  tears  and  let  us  be 
cheerful  when  we  part.  'Tis  but  for  a  little 
and  then  we  meet  again." 

"I  do  not  like  to  say  it,  Henry,  but  I  do 
feel  afraid  about  your  going  to  the  city ;  you 
are  so  fond  of  company,  and  so  full  of  life 
and  spirit,  that  I  can  not  help  but  fear  that 
you  will  forget  us  up  in  the  country,  when 
new  friends  and  new  scenes  are  before  you." 

Henry  was  startled  at  the  thought.  It 
was  new  to  him.  He  had  never  dreamed 
that  the  pleasures  of  which  he  had  a  little 
taste  a  few  months  ago  were  to  make  him 
forgetful  of  the  friends  he  had  loved  in  his 
childhood,  and  whom  he  thought  he  should 


HENRY  NEWTON  AND  HIS  SISTER.  39 


love  as  long  as  he  had  life.  He  was  loud 
in  his  assurances  that  distance  and  separa- 
tion would  only  make  them  more  dear,  and 
sure  he  was,  that  never  would  he  find  one 
more  precious  than  his  own  Mary.  He  was 
only  sorry  that  she  was  not  going  with  him, 
to  he  ever  near  him,  that  he  could  see  her 
every  evening  as  he  had  done  as  long  as  he 
could  rernemher. 

"And  you  will  write  to  me  often,"  she 
said,  "  and  tell  me  how  you  enjoy  the  city, 
and  what  new  friends  you  make,  and  how 
you  get  on  in  business,  and  everything  that 
I  would  like  to  know  :  you  will  ?" 

"  Yes,  certainly,  and  you  will  never  let 
a  week  go  by,  without  writing  to  your  own 
Henry,  who  will  think  it  the  brightest  day 
of  the  week  when  he  hears  from  Mary 
Walton." 

They  parted.  She  stayed  to  pray  for 
him  she  loved,  and  Henry  was  soon  in  New 
York,  a  clerk  in  one  of  the  most  fashion- 
able drygoods  stores  of  the  city.    *    *  * 

"  I  say,  Newton,  what  do  you  say  to  go- 


40 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


ing  to  the  theatre  to-night  ?"  said  one  of  the 
clerks  to  Henry,  but  a  few  days  after  he  was  1 
installed  in  his  new  situation.  Henry  had 
never  been  to  the  theatre  in  his  life,  but  he 
had  wanted  to  go  a  thousand  times,  and  he 
meant  to  go  once,  just  to  see  for  himself, 
and  know  about  it. 

"  I'm  ready,"  he  answered ;  "  I  was 
thinking  of  that  same  thing  myself,  and 
should  like  it  well." 

A  new  world,  and  a  dazzling  one,  burst 
on  the  sight  of  that  young  man  as  the  slight 
door  flew  open  at  the  touch  of  his  compan- 
ion, and  the  glare  of  the  brilliant  theatre 
shone  upon  his  bewildered  eyes.  There, 
young  men,  you  are  in  the  outer  circle  of 
the  vortex,  but  booked  and  ticketed  for  the 
fatal  returnless  plunge.  You  will  play 
around  awhile  upon  the  surface,  and  think 
it  fine  fun  to  sport  on  the  smooth  wave,  but 
the  devil  is  pushing  your  shell  of  a  boat, 
and  grins  behind  you,  as  he  sees  the  circle 
narrowing,  the  rush  increasing,  your  dam- 
nation more  sure.    O  !  if  I  could  shout  so 


HENRY  NEWTON   AND  HIS  SISTER. 


41 


loud  as  to  be  heard  above  the  roar  of  the 
waters  around  you,  I  would  cry,  "  Beware, 
beware,  for  the  path  to  hell  lies  there,  and 
the  way  is  easy." 

But  what  young  man  will  stop  to  hear 
preaching  when  he  is  crossing  the  thresh- 
old of  a  theatre?  Henry  heard  nothing, 
saw  nothing  at  first,  but  like  one  intoxicated 
with  the  splendour  of  the  scenery,  the  unreal 
novelty  of  what  was  passing  before  him,  he 
gazed  in  silent  amazement.  His  young 
friend  pointed  him  to  well-known  actors, 
and  initiated  him  slowly  into  the  mysteries 
of  the  new  life  on  which  he  had  entered. 
A  stroll  through  the  galleries  completed  his 
apprenticeship.  Henry  was  an  apt  scholar. 
Ardent,  impetuous  in  his  passions,  fond  of 
pleasure  and  now  seeking  it,  he  needed  little 
instruction  to  guide  him  in  the  race  of  ruin 
which  he  had  entered.  Before  he  slept  that 
night  he  had  drank  till  he  had  little  con- 
sciousness of  what  he  was  doing,  and  when 
he  woke  the  next  morning,  a  dim  and  dis- 
tressing recollection  of  what  he  had  passed 


42 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


through  stole  over  him.  It  was  bright  while 
it  lasted,  but  it  is  bitter  to  remember,  now 
it  is  gone.  But  the  next  night  was  as  the 
last  and  more  abundant  in  eviL  He  had 
taken  but  a  single  step  the  night  before,  and 
new  scenes  of  dissipation,  mirth,  and  dam- 
ning sin,  were  unveiled  to  his  craving  appe- 
tite. Like  the  tiger  that  has  a  taste  for 
blood,  he  longed  for  more.  There  is  no 
need  that  we  follow  him.  The  noose  of  the 
devil  is  around  his  neck,  and  a  "  willing  cap- 
tive," he  follows  his  master.  Poor  boy  ! 
The  sweet  air  of  your  native  hills  would 
have  been  purer  and  healthier  for  your  soul, 
than  the  close,  foul  atmosphere  of  that  den 
where  you  revelled  on  the  second  night  of 
your  career  of  shame.  What  would  Mary 
Wilton  have  said,  how  would  Mary  WTihon 
have  felt,  had  she  known  the  dangers  of 
that  dreadful  night?  Did  you  think  of  her, 
Henry,  when  the  laugh  and  the  song  rang 
merrily  in  those  walls  where  you  sold  your 
soul  for  the  miserable  pay  of  an  hour  of 
sin  ?  Yes,  Henry,  you  know  you  did.  And 


HENRY  NEWTON  AND  HIS  SISTER. 


43 


once  you  thought  you  would  dash  away  the 
maddening  cup,  and  break  from  the  charmed 
circle,  and  rush  into  the  street  and  fly  to 
her  who  loved  you  and  would  make  you 
blest !  It  was  a  sudden  thought,  and  it 
perished  on  the  instant.  Had  you  cherished 
it  one  moment,  perhaps  it  would  have  saved 
you.  But  it  was  dnnvned  in  the  wine-cup, 
and  your  doom  was  sealed. 

Henry  Newton  was  not  sufficiently  inured 
to  these  scenes  of  dissipation  to  be  able  to 
conceal  from  his  employers,  his  father's 
friends,  the  evidences  of  his  delinquency. 
They  could  read  it  in  his  looks,  and  they 
were  faithful  to  remonstrate  with  him  on 
what  they  knew  to  be  his  habits;  but  when 
w  as  a  young  man  willing  to  believe  that  he 
was  in  danger  ?  He  could  take  care  of 
himself;  he  knew  what  he  was  about;  he 
was  a  little  out  of  health  and  that  made 
him  look  so  ;  he  would  give  them  no  reason 
to  fear  for  him,  and  besides,  he  was  not 
twenty  yet,  and  might  sow  wild  oats  for 
wme  time  to  come.    All  this  was  very  far 


44 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


from  being  satisfactory  to  them,  and  they 
determined  to  consult  with  the  father. 

Mr.  Newton  heard  the  report  of  his  son's 
wildness  with  deep  distress.  It  had  not  en- 
tered into  his  calculations  when  sending 
Henry,  a  young  man  of  nineteen,  into  the 
city,  that  he  was  to  be  led  into  bad  compa- 
ny and  dissolute  habits.  But  he  was  a  man 
of  business,  of  close  calculations,  and  as  he 
had  sent  Henry  to  the  city  solely  because 
he  could  make  money  there,  so  he  reasoned 
now,  that  if  Henry  had  not  the  means  to 
gratify  his  desires  for  pleasure,  he  must  deny 
himself,  and  of  necessity  be  a  steady  young 
man.  His  salary  was  barely  enough  to 
clothe  him  and  pay  for  his  board.  Mr. 
Newton  would  furnish  him  no  more  spend- 
ing-money,  and  how  could  Henry  then  be 
a  spendthrift? 

A  severe,  and  certainly  a  deservedly  se- 
vere, letter  from  his  father  announced  to 
Henry,  that  his  father  had  heard  with  deep 
concern  and  grief  the  evil  courses  on  which 
he  had  entered,  and  he  earnestly  desired 


HENRY  NEWTON  AND  HIS  SISTER.  45 


him  to  forsake  his  evil  companions  ;  and 
if  he  would  please  his  father,  and  make  an 
anxious  family  happy,  he  would  leave  the 
city  and  hasten  home.  Not  he.  He  smiled 
at  the  suggestion,  and  was  distressed  with 
one  passage  only  in  the  letter  —  that  which 
informed  him  of  his  father's  determination 
to  stop  the  supplies. 

For  a  time,  however,  it  did  throw  a  check 
upon  his  career.  Indeed,  there  was  no  help 
for  it.  Who  would  pay  the  bills?  He  had 
always  been  the  best  supplied  with  money 
of  any  in  the  club  to  which  he  belonged, 
and  it  was  more  than  he  could  stand  to 
think  of  making  an  exposure  of  his  impov- 
erished treasury.  He  chafed  under  his  con- 
finement, as  he  felt  himself  suddenly  shut 
out  from  sources  of  enjoyment  which  had 
now  become  essential  to  his  being,  and  he 
began  to  devise  ways  and  means  to  regain 
what  he  had  lost.  An  appeal  to  his  father 
for  funds  was  worse  than  fruitless.  It 
brought  him  another  and  severer  letter  on 
the  error  of  his  ways- 


46 


LIFE  IN  THE  CIT7. 


A  hundred  times  in  the  day  he  went  to 
the  drawer  in  the  store  where  the  loose 
change  was  thrown,  and  a  hundred  times  a 
day  the  thought  was  revolved,  that  if  that 
money  was  in  his  pocket,  he  could  have  all 
he  wanted.  There  comes  the  devil  again : 
he  is  drawing  that  noose  a  little  tighter,  and 
a  little  tighter  —  he  will  strangle  you  yet, 
young  man.  Touch  that  silver,  and  you 
are  lost.  It  is  not  yours.  It  shines  but  to 
tempt ;  resist  the  devil  and  he  will  flee,  but 
yield  one  inch  and  the  game  is  up. 

But  he  did  touch  it.  He  took  k,  a  little 
at  a  time,  and  it  was  not  missed  —  a  little 
more,  and  then  he  wanted  more,  and  the 
desire  grew  with  the  indulgence,  and  indul- 
gence was  increased,  till  the  inroad  upon 
the  silver  could  no  longer  be  concealed. 
What  would  Mary  Wilton  say  of  you,  Hen- 
ry Newton,  if  she  knew  you  were  a  thief! 
Think  of  it,  and  hide  your  head  with  shame ; 
blush  at  the  very  recollection  of  her  purity, 
her  prayers,  her  tears,  and  your  own  base 
apostacy,  profligacy,  and  sinl 


HENRY  NEWTON  AND  HIS  SISTER.  47 


Henry's  employers  were  not  long  in 
doubt  when  they  found  there  was  a  thief  in 
the  store.  But  they  would  make  an  exam- 
ple of  him,  and  bring  the  thing  home  to  his 
own  conscience  in  a  form  of  peculiar  terror; 
so  they  determined  to  expel  him  from  their 
service,  and  send  him  home  in  disgrace. 
Respect  for  a  father's  feelings  prevented 
them  from  delivering  him  up  to  the  arm  of 
the  law,  while  they  doubted  if  justice  did 
not  demand  his  punishment.  Yet  what  a 
change  was  this  for  Henry  Newton,  when 
he  returned  to  his  father's  house  !  How 
could  he  meet  the  eye  of  a  father  whose 
confidence  he  had  abused  !  Would  Mary 
Wilton  welcome  him  back  to  the  spot  which 
he  had  deserted  ?  Should  he  ever  regain 
the  character  he  had  lost  ?  These  were  the 
thoughts  which  pressed  heavily  upon  him 
when  he  made  his  way  back  to  his  native 
village.  He  resolved  to  confess  his  errors, 
to  humble  himself,  and  make  an  effort  to 
secure  the  sympathy  and  forgiveness  of 
those  whom  he  had  grieved.    His  father 


48 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


was  but  too  willing  to  accept  his  professions 
of  penitence,  and  no  one  else  had  heard  of 
his  fall.  His  own  sister  knew  nothing  of 
it.  and  Mary  Wilton,  all  unconscious  of  his 
guilt,  gave  him  a  glad  welcome. 

"  Now,  you  will  never  go  back  to  that 
dreadful  city,  will  you?  You  will  stay  with 
us,  and  be  as  happy  as  when  we  were  chil- 
dren, and  never  knew  what  it  was  to  be 
separated." 

Henry  was  ready  to  promise.  He  was 
for  the  moment  heart-sick,  and  inwardly  he 
lamented  the  day  when  he  was  first  tempted 
to  leave  those  lovely  shades  and  early  friends 
for  the  gay,  empty  pleasures  in  which  he 
had  been  revelling. 

So  he  felt  for  a  few  weeks,  and  then  he 
was  discontented.  He  thought  home  was 
dull,  the  pleasures  of  the  country  insipid, 
and  he  sighed  for  the  gayer  and  brighter 
scenes  which  he  had  once  delighted  in. 

It  was  a  struggle  for  Mr.  Newton  to  bring 
himself  to  consent  to  Henry's  proposal  that 
he  should  return  to  New  York.   Nor  would 


HENRY  NEWTON  AND  HIS  SISTER.  49 


he  have  consented  for  a  moment,  but  for  his 
son's  repeated  and  solemn  assurances  that 
he  would  devote  himself  strictly  to  business, 
and  never  give  any  occasion  for  anxiety  on 
his  account.  He  also  proposed  that  his 
younger  sister  should  accompany  him  to 
the  city,  and  attend  school  during  the  win- 
ter. Thus  would  he  enjoy  her  society  in 
the  evenings,  after  his  duties  for  the  day 
were  over,  and  she  would  be  as  a  guardian 
angel  to  watch  him  and  restrain  him  from 
evil.  There  was  in  this  proposal  so  much 
evidence  of  sincerity  and  determination  to 
lead  a  life  of  pure  and  manly  virtue,  that 
Mr.  Xewton  once  more  sacrificed  his  own 
views  of  duty,  and  his  own  wishes,  to  the 
earnest  solicitations  of  his  son,  and  Henry 
and  his  sister  were  soon  in  the  city,  a  new 
situation  having  been  found  for  the  young 
man,  where,  after  a  short  period  of  service, 
he  would  succeed  to  a  partnership  in  the 
concern. 

I  have  already  related  what  has  transpired 
between  the  time  of  his  return  to  New  York 


50 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


and  the  night  when  I  was  going  through 

M  street,  on  my  wray  home.    He  had 

taken  to  play  ;  its  fatal  fascination  had  be- 
guiled him  ;  all  his  pledges,  extorted  by 
parental  love,  and  given  with  filial  reve- 
rence, had  been  disregarded  :  even  Mary 
Wilton's  love  had  been  forgotten,  and  a  sis* 
ter's  prayers  by  night  and  day,  her  tbreat- 
enings  to  reveal  to  others  his  dangers,  and 
to  beg  her  father  to  take  him  home,  were 
lost  upon  him.  Madness  was  in  his  heart! 
Deeper  and  still  deeper  he  plunged  into  the 
meshes  of  vice,  till  even  his  sister's  hope 
was  all  but  spent.  In  one  of  his  often  visits 
to  the  gaming  tables,  he  has  forgotten  the 
pledge  which  he  had  given  to  return  early, 
and  his  devoted  sister,  braving  the  exposure 
of  a  solitary  walk  through  the  streets  of  the 
city,  and  regardless  of.  the  cold  and  storm 
that  were  enough  to  prevent  any  one  but 
the  bold  from  venturing  out,  she  has  re- 
solved to  make  one  desperate  effort  to 
deliver  her  brother  from  the  snares  in 
which  he  was  caught,  and  save  him,  if 


HENRY  NEWTON  AND  HIS  SISTER.  51 


possible,  from  the  ruin  that  seemed  to  be 
at  hand. 

We  had  reached  the  house.  I  found  the 
number,  and  rang  the  bell.  We  waited  in 
painful  silence  for  some  moments  before  the 
bell  was  answered  ;  but  at  length  it  was 
cautiously  opened  by  a  servant,  and,  on  our 
attempting  to  enter,  we  were  told  that  this 
was  a  private  house,  and  the  family  had  re- 
tired. Here  was  an  unexpected  difficulty. 
Yet  I  had  already  discovered  in  the  manner 
of  the  servant  something  that  gave  the  lie  to 
his  assertion,  and  telling  him  that  we  knew 
where  we  were,  I  ordered  him  to  show  us 
the  way. 

We  stepped  into  the  hall,  and  he  con- 
ducted us  down  stairs,  and  through  a  long 
passage  into  a  large  room,  which,  as  we  en- 
tered it,  almost  stifled  us  with  its  foul, 
steaming,  suffocating  atmosphere.  The 
quick  eye  of  the  young  lady  speedily  sin- 
gled out  the  object  of  her  search,  among 
the  many  tables  around  which  were  seated 
parties  of  midnight  gamblers  deep  in  play. 


52 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


Not  one  of  them  noticed  us  as  we  entered, 
The  steady  fixedness  of  every  eye  upon  the 
game  was  terrible.  It  was  but  a  moment 
before  she  rushed  behind  him,  and,  twining 
her  arms  around  his  neck,  whispered  in  his 
ear,  "  Henry,  have  you  forgotten  your  own 
sister?"  He  started  from  his  seat,  and  was 
about  to  break  out  in  a  rage  at  the  boldness 
of  the  girl  to  venture  into  such  a  place ; 
and  shame  must  have  seized  his  heart,  too, 
at  the  thought  that  he  was  detected  thus  in 
the  midst  of  his  guilt.  Before  he  could 
speak,  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and 
checking  his  anger,  promised  to  explain  it 
all  to  him  on  the  way  home,  if  he  would 
only  leave  his  play  and  go  with  her.  "  You 
must  go,"  she  said ;  "  I  shall  never  leave 
you  an  instant  until  you  are  yourself  again." 
He  found  remonstrance  was  useless,  and 
making  a  hasty  apology  to  his  companions, 
whose  bitter  sneers  fell  on  his  ear  as  he 
turned  away,  he  gave  his  arm  to  his  sister, 
and  they  left  the  house  together. 

In  the  street  she  thanked  me  for  my  at- 


HENRY  NEWTON  AND  HIS  SISTER. 


53 


tention,  and,  on  my  informing  her  of  my 
profession,  and  of  my  interest  in  the  errand 
which  had  brought  us  for  a  few  moments  in 
company,  she  asked  me  to  call.  And  I  did 
call,  with  a  strong  desire  to  know  more  of 
the  fate  of  Henry  Newton. 

Jt  is  less  than  a  year  since  T  first  met 
him.  It  is  less  than  two  years  since  he  first 
came  to  this  city.  But  what  ravages  have 
those  years  made  in  his  character,  and  in 
the  hearts  of  those  that  loved  him  !  For  a 
brief  season  after  the  brave  attempt  of  his 
sister  to  rescue  him  from  the  destroyer,  he 
abandoned  his  haunts,  and  inspired  her 
heart  again  with  hope.  The  gleam  of  sun- 
shine was  transient.  The  passion  for  play 
was  the  mightiest  emotion  of  his  soul,  and 
no  earthly  tie  was  strong  enough  to  hold 
him  back.  It  is  needless  for  me  to  speak 
of  the  efforts  his  sister  made  to  restrain  and 
reclaim  him,  nor  of  the  wild  rejection  he 
gave  to  every  entreaty  which  she  pressed 
upon  him.  His  father's  authority  was  in- 
voked in  vain  ;  his  Mary's  love  was  brought 
5* 


54 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


to  bear  upon  his  heart,  but  he  despised  it. 
He  was  joined  to  his  idols,  and  wanted  to 
be  let  alone.  The  sister,  worn  with  his  sin- 
ful career,  and  powerless  to  hold  him  back, 
returned  home.  The  father  has  since  sought 
him  out,  and  attempted  to  save  him  ,  but 
he  is  on  the  high-road  to  ruin,  if  not  aireddy 
in  the  pit. 


BIMON  WILSON,  THE  DROVER  BOY.  55 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SIMON  "WILSON,  THE  DROVER  BOY. 

Those  who  learn  life  in  the  city  from 
these  sketches,  must  form  a  sad  opinion  of 
it.  I  have  told  only  tales  of  sorrow,  the 
"shadows"  of  life;  while  the  picture  has 
had  no  "lights"  to  gladden  it.  Well, there 
is  a  bright  side  to  it,  and  I  could  in  the  cir- 
cle of  my  acquaintance  find  stories  to  tell 
you  that  are  full  of  what  the  world  calls 
"  good  ;"  and  the  recital  of  which  will  waken 
pleasant  feelings  in  the  breast. 

There  is  Simon  Wilson — nobody  will 
know  him  by  that  name,  and  as  my  sketch 
is  from  the  life,  I  choose  to  hide  his  other 
under  this — when  I  was  a  boy,  up  in  the 
country,  Simon  was  a  boy  too — a  cow-boy  ; 
on  the  farm  which  his  master  worked,  Si- 
mon was  kept  as  the  boy  of  all  work,  run- 


56 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


ning  of  errands,  bringing  in  wood,  "putting 
out"  the  horses,  and  all  those  little  odds  and 
ends  of  things  that  the  regular  hands  could 
not  see  to,  were  left  for  him.  Of  course, 
he  was  ordered  about  by  every  one,  from 
the  milk-maid,  who  made  him  wait  on  her 
whenever  she  caught  him  idle,  up  to  the 
rough  farmer,  who  kicked  him  whenever  he 
found  him  standing  still.  Simon  had  a  hard 
time  of  it  on  that  farm,  and  often,  when  go- 
ing to  bed  in  a  cold  garret,  where  the  snow 
blew  thick  and  fast  through  the  cracks  upon 
his  scant  bed-clothes,  he  wished  that  he 
might  get  away  from  that  farm  and  do  some- 
thing for  himself.  And  when  the  harsh 
voice  of  the  old  farmer  startled  him  from 
his  slumbers  in  the  gray  of  the  morning,  and 
Simon  heard  him  crying  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  "Hullo!  there,  you  lazy  rascal,  if 
you  don't  make  haste  and  come  down,  I'll 
help  you,"  the  shivering  lad  wished,  from 
the  bottom  of  his  heart,  that  he  could  find 
some  way  of  escape  from  the  miserable  fate 
to  which  he  was  doomed. 


SIMON  WILSON,  THE  DROVER  BOY. 


57 


The  farmer  was  in  the  habit  of  driving 
cattle  to  market,  and  on  one  occasion  being 
short  of  a  hand  to  help,  he  told  Simon  to 
brush  up  and  come  along.  It  was  a  short 
operation  for  him  to  brush  up — his  best  was 
a  poor  affair — but  he  was  in  ecstasy  at  the 
thought  of  getting  off  from  the  farm  into  the 
world,  and  he  was  very  soon  rigged  for  the 
journey.  And  a  rougher  looking  drover 
never  stopped  at  Bull's  Head  than  Simon 
Wilson,  when,  for  the  first  time,  he  made 
his  entry  into  the  city  of  New  York,  in  the 
rear  of  some  three  hundred  cattle,  which  the 
farmer  was  bringing  to  market.  A  wag  at 
the  tavern  was  struck  with  the  uncouth  ap- 
pearance of  the  youth,  and  determined  to 
have  a  joke  at  his  expense. 

"I  say,  my  boy,"  said  the  wag,  "what 
would  you  be  willing  to  work  for  by  the 
day?" 

Simon  thought  he  had  found  something 
to  do,  and  that  the  great  object  of  his  hopes 
and  thoughts  while  driving  his  cattle  from 
Dutchess  county  was  about  to  be  realized. 


58 


LIFE  IN  THE  ylTT. 


M  Waal,"  said  he,  "  I  ain't  partikeler,  most 
anything  you  are  a  mind  to  give.  I  don't 
like  farming,  and  I  thought  as  how  I'd  come 
down  to  York  and  see  what  there  was  a  go- 
ing on.  I  guess  you  and  1  '11  agree  about 
the  wages." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  wrag,  "  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  want  you  to  do.  You  may  go  out 
into  the  yard  and  stand  there  for  the  cattle 
to  rub  against.  You  are  just  about  rough 
enough  for  that." 

Now  that  is  not  a  very  refined  joke,  I  ad- 
mit, and  rather  too  coarse  for  these  pages, 
but  it  is  a  fact  and  saves  me  time  in  giving 
the  reader  an  idea  of  the  outer  man  of  our 
Simon  when  he  first  came  into  these  parts. 
The  boys  laughed  at  him  as  he  sauntered 
about  the  streets,  but  philosopher  as  he  was, 
he  paid  no  attention  to  them.  His  head 
was  at  work.  Here  was  the  place  for  busi- 
ness. He  saw  it  at  a  glance,  and  scratching 
his  carroty  head,  he  thought  of  ways  and 
means  to  get  into  the  great  market-house 
and  run  his  chance  with  the  rest.  Simon 


SIMON  WtLSON,  THE  DROVER  BOY.  59 


returned  to  the  farm  with  his  master,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  days,  resolved  to  be  a  man. 
He  would  show  himself  trustworthy,  and 
then  he  would  be  trusted.  By-and-by  some- 
thing would  turn  up,  and  he  would  seize 
upon  it  to  improve  his  situation,  but  while 
he  was  here,  he  would  do  the  best  he  could 
for  his  employer.  This  was  in  the  spirit 
of  the  scripture,  that  speaks  of  him  who  is 
faithful  in  a  little  being  faithful  also  in  much. 
His  master  saw  the  change  that  had  come 
over  the  boy,  and  was  pleased  to  encourage 
him.  He  intrusted  him  with  more  and  more 
of  his  business  ;  sending  him  to  the  village 
to  make  small  purchases  when  they  were 
necessary,  and  some  months  afterward,  he 
actually  despatched  Simon  to  the  city  with 
a  small  drove  of  cattle.  Had  the  boy  been 
suddenly  made  president  of  the  United 
States,  he  could  scarcely  have  been  more 
sensible  of  the  responsibility  resting  upon 
him.  And  he  performed  his  duty  faithfully, 
and  returned  home  to  give  an  account  of  his 
stewardship.    The  farmer  was  highly  grati- 


60 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


fied  with  the  promptness  and  business-tact 
of  the  young  man,  and  gradually  committed 
more  and  more  of  his  business  to  his  hands, 
until,  when  Simon  came  of  age,  and  he  was 
now  able  to  choose  for  himself  where  he 
would  go,  the  farmer  was  willing  to  give  him 
any  wages  he  might  name,  if  Simon  would 
only  consent  to  remain  and  superintend  his 
affairs.  But  the  young  man  thought  of  the 
city,  and  after  a  few  months'  labor  on  the 
farm  to  earn  something  with  which  to  start 
in  business,  he  came  down  to  New  York, 
on  foot,  with  a  bundles  of  clothes  tied  up  in 
a  cotton  pocket-handkerchief,  slung  over  his 
shoulder  on  a  stick.  He  was  rather  unsuc- 
cessful at  first  in  finding  employment ;  his 
rustic  appearance  being  against  him,  and  he 
was  finally  under  the  necessity  of  engaging 
as  a  hand  on  a  North  river  sloop.  He  was 
soon  the  master  of  a  sloop.  It  was  not  a 
very  long  time  before  he  was  the  owner  of 
a  sloop.  It  was  a  short  step  from  a  sloop 
to  a  steamboat,  and  Simon  Wilson  invested 
his  earnings  in  that  business.    He  was  sue- 


SIMON  WILSON,  THE  DROVER  BOY.  61 


cessful.  Keeping  his  eyes  wide  open,  at- 
tending constantly  to  business,  and  fulfilling 
his  engagements  so  strictly  that  his  word 
was  as  good  as  his  bond,  he  rose  to  distinc- 
tion in  his  line.  He  went  asnore  to  attend 
to  matters  there,  while  his  rapidly  accumu- 
lating property  was  employed  on  the  water. 
Simon  Wilson  became  known  on  'change. 
He  began  to  dabble  in  stocks.  Prudent, 
cool,  even  cunning  at  times,  he  bought  and 
sold  at  the  very  nick  of  time,  and  his  wealth 
rolled  in  like  a  flood. 

Yesterday  I  was  walking  up  Broadway, 
and  a  splendid  carriage,  drawn  by  elegant 
bays,  drew  up  at  Stewart's;  a  couple  of 
delicate  girls  stepped  out  as  daintily,  while 
the  liveried  footman  held  the  door,  as  if 
their  pretty  feet  had  never  been  upon  the 
ground  in  the  world,  and  as  they  tripped 
by  me,  I  perceived  they  were  Simon's 
daughters !  Yes,  there  they  were.  Simon 
married  shortly  after  he  was  fairly  started 
in  business,  and  now  keeps  his  carriage ; 
lives  in  great  style  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
6 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


city  ;  rides  down  pretty  much  every  day ; 
and  in  very  pleasant  weather  you  may  see 
these  two  girls,  fifteen  and  seventeen,  or 
thereabouts,  lolling  in  the  luxurious  carriage, 
as  much  at  ease  as  if  they  had  been  born 
with  a  silver  spoon  in  their  mouths.  Happy 
Simon  !  my  young  readers  will  say.  And 
the  psalmist  said,  "  Men  will  praise  thee  when 
thou  doest  well  by  thyself." 

And  yet  I  have  a  private  notion  that  you 
are  mistaken,  my  innocent  reader.  Simon 
was  not  happy,  I  admit  it,  when  he  did 
"  chores"  for  the  farmer  in  Dutchess;  but 
he  might  have  been  and  ought  to  have  been  ; 
and  had  he  kept  on  at  the  old  business,  and 
settled  in  that  neighbourhood,  and  lived  and 
laboured  in  the  free,  rough  country  of  his 
birth  and  childhood,  he  would  have  been  a 
happier  man  than  he  ever  has  been  since. 
He  has  never  slept  so  soundly  here  in  his 
handsome  mansion  as  he  did  in  the  farmer's 
garret :  he  wakes  oftener  in  the  night  than 
he  did  then,  and  rolls  over,  thinking  of  his 
stocks  and  steamboats ;  and  many  a  time 


SIMON  WILSON,  THE  DROVER  BOY.  63 


he  has  sighed  after  the  rustic  pleasures  of 
that  farmer  life,  sweeter  to  the  heart  and 
longer  to  be  loved  and  remembered,  than 
those  more  brilliant  and  costly  which  gold 
has  got  him  in  this  proud  city.  And  then 
Simon,  and  Simon's  wife,  and  Simon's 
daughters,  find  that  his  wealth  will  not  bring 
them  into  that  society,  wealthy  men,  and 
wealthy  men's  wives  and  daughters,  wish  for, 
and  can  not  be  happy  without.  In  this 
democratic  country  of  ours,  as  soon  as  a 
man  gets  money  enough  to  keep  a  carriage 
and  live  without  work,  he  claims  to  belong 
to  the  upper  classes,  and  it  is  no  small  drop 
of  gall  in  his  cup  if  this  very  natural  claim 
is  called  in  question.  But  it  takes  more 
than  money  to  make  a  gentleman,  and  there- 
fore not  a  few  of  our  "  fellow-citizens"  have 
to  put  up  with  the  inconveniences  of  that 
position  which  worth,  education,  and  man- 
ners, or  want  of  all,  have  made  them  fit  for, 
while  they  look  up  with  envy  and  ill-con- 
cealed mortification  at  the  loftier  heights  to 
which  they  would  gladly,  but  can  not  attain. 


04 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


The  full  equality  that  reigns  in  the  country, 
is  one  of  the  greatest  comforts  of  society 
there.  Nobody  looks  up  to  anybody.  An 
evening  party  is  made  up  of  (he  neighbours, 
and  none  are  excluded  because  they  are  not 
good  enough  society  !  "  Where  ignorance 
is  bliss,  'tis  folly  to  be  wise,"  and  surely, 
knowing  nothing  of  the  artificial  distinctions 
of  life,  the  plain  people  in  Simon  Wilson's 
sphere,  when  Simon  was  a  boy,  were  hap- 
pier far  than  Simon  or  his  neighbours  in  the 
upper  end  of  Broadway.  If  this  opinion 
is  called  in  question  by  any  of  the  readers 
of  these  sketches,  I  shall  not  argue  the  mat- 
ter with  them.  I  speak  from  observation, 
and  if  there  are  not  more  heart-aches  and 
head-aches  here  in  this  proud  city  than  in 
the  green  valleys  of  the  river  counties,  then 
have  I  lived  in  both  to  little  purpose.  Its  ev- 
idence is  on  every  face  you  meet,  and  you 
meet  so  many  faces  daily,  that  the  very  sight 
of  them  is  bewildering,  and  it  is  a  relief  to  turn 
from  studying  physiognomy,  as  you  walk, 
to  mineralogy  among  the  paving-stonea. 


THE  BARBER  BROKER. 


65 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  BARBER  BROKER. 

There,  I  just  passed  a  "gentleman  of 
colour ;"  he  walked  with  the  air  of  a  man; 
and  his  very  step  seemed  to  say  that  he  was 
somebody.  Would  you  like  to  hear  a  word 
of  his  history,  to  know  what  there  is  in  that 
man  to  mark  him  from  his  fellows,  and 
make  him  worth  a  place  in  these  chronicles 
of  Gotham  ?  A  few  years  ago  he  was  a 
barber  in  Nassau  street ;  a  steady,  industri- 
ous man,  and  having  made  a  little  money, 
he  invested  it  successfully,  and  his  little 
grew  to  more,  till  he  shut  up  his  barber- 
shop and  went  into  trade.  He  went  to  the 
West  Indies  as  supercargo  of  a  vessel,  the 
most  of  the  freight  being  his  own,  and  here 
be  was  quite  as  successful  in  his  operations 
as  he  was  at  home.  His  property  was 
6* 


66 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


speedily  doubled,  and  he  spread  his  sails 
for  still  wider  business,  till  he  became  a 
well-known  trader.  He  left  the  seas  and 
set  up  in  Wall  street,  and  now  deals  in 
stocks,  and  in  his  line  now  commands  the 
respect  and  confidence  of  his  fellow-men. 
[  do  not  know  that  he  is  in  business  now, 
but  I  meet  him  occasionally,  as  I  did  yes- 
terday, in  Rroadway,  and  it  is  with  feelings 
of  pleasure  that  I  observe  one  of  this  race, 
who  has  succeeded  by  honest  industry  and 
perseverance  in  so  far  subduing  the  preju- 
dices of  the  community,  that  he  has  been 
enabled  to  rise  above  the  condition  of  his 
class  and  make  something  of  himself.  I 
have  always  felt  a  deep  interest  in  these 
coloured  people.  It  seems  hard  that  they 
should  be  shut  out  of  the  avenues  to  wealth, 
and  honour,  and  usefulness,  and  their  souls 
must  be  ground  down  by  the  oppression  of 
caste,  as  if  the  bonds  were  on  their  necks. 
I  was  in  a  barber's-shop  a  few  months  ago, 
and  I  said  to  the  man  who  was  shaving  me, 
*'  Do  you  send  your  children  to  school?" 


THE  BARBER  BROKER. 


67 


*  Oh,  no,"  said  he  ;  "  why  should  I  send 
them  to  school  ?  They  will  pick  up  enough 
learning  for  my  business,  and  they  can  never 
be  anything  more  than  barbers." 

I  felt  sorry  for  him,  and  to  give  him  some 
consolation  I  added,  "  But  education  will 
make  them  happier  even  if  they  never  fol- 
low any  other  employment." 

The  barber  sighed,  and  remarked  with 
evident  pain  :  "  You  have  touched  the  sore 
spot  exactly.  If  I  do  not  give  them  edu- 
cation, they  will  be  contented  as  barbers, 
and  in  a  measure  as  happy  as  men  in  their 
line ;  but  if  they  had  learning  they  would 
never  be  satisfied  here,  and  would  therefore 
be  more  miserable  than  if  left  in  their  ig- 
norance." 

There  was  reason  and  truth  in  these  mel- 
ancholy remarks,  and  I  saw  the  poor  fellow 
felt  what  he  said.  Again  I  might  recite 
the  line, 

"Where  ignorance  is  bliss,  'tis  folly  to  be  wise." 
Knowledge  may  make  a  man  discontented, 


68 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


and  unless  it  may  be  made  available  to  in- 
crease his  present,  or  prospective  useful- 
ness or  happiness,  you  can  hardly  expect 
that  he  will  make  any  great  effort  to  secure 
it  for  himself  or  his  children. 

A  strange  world  this  is  we  live  in,  and  its 
ups  and  downs  are  so  sudden  and  singular, 
that  he  is  a  fool  who  makes  calculations 
upon  anything  here  as  if  it  were  sure  to 
stand.  I  know  of  nothing  in  this  world 
that  men  make  (but  the  pyramids)  that  is 
worth  calling  substantial,  and  the  pyramids 
will  not  stand  for  ever.  Fortunes  are  made 
suddenly  here,  it  is  true,  and  often  lost  as 
suddenly.  The  British  steamer  arrived  a 
day  or  two  ago  with  news  that  the  crops  had 
failed  in  England,  and  the  price  of  flour 
went  up  in  an  instant ;  a  few  men  making 
thousands  of  dollars  by  the  operations  of  a 
single  day.  A  speck  of  a  war-cloud  in  the 
horizon  will  sink  the  price  of  stocks,  and 
strip  away  the  gilded  hopes  of  the  specula- 
tor. These  are  the  changes  of  the  hour. 
But  there  are  many  who  take  a  slower  and 


ISABELLA. 


69 


a  surer  road  to  wealth  and  pleasure,  and 
they  sometimes  find  what  they  seek,  and 
having  amassed  a  "  handsome  property," 
retire  to  enjoy  it  in  the  shades  of  rural  life. 
Others  again  make  their  way  to  wealth  by 
the  heart,  a  queer  path  to  be  sure,  and  who 
knows  what  it  means.  There  is  a  lady  who 
went  to  the  district  school  with  me  in  the 
country,  twenty  years  ago.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  poor,  but  very  respectable  pa- 
rents, and  they  had  connexions  living  in  New 
York,  and  when  Isabella  was  old  enough  to 
go  from  home  visiting,  she  came  to  the  city 
to  make  a  visit.  Her  fresh,  full-blown 
beauty,  like  one  of  our  mountain  roses, 
drew  many  an  eye  after  her  as  she  made 
her  first  appearance  in  society  ;  and  not 
many  months  elapsed  before  she  had  the 
offer  of  the  hand  of  one  of  the  most  prom- 
ising young  merchants  in  Pearl  street.  She 
married  him  ;  he  had  no  care  for  money 
with  a  wife,  as  he  was  making  enough  with- 
out, and  so  they  married  for  pure  love. 
Why  should  they  not?    And  now  my  old 


70 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


school-mate  Isabel,  her  husband  having 
been  in  successful  business  twenty  years,  is 
at  the  head  of  a  fine  establishment,  with 
servants  and  horses  at  her  command,  her 
princely  mansion  up-town  is  furnished  in 
splendid  style,  and  as  she  presses  her  ele- 
gant carpets,  and  patches  a  glimpse  of  her- 
self in  a  thousand-dollar  pier-glass  on  the 
wall,  she  can  scarcely  believe  that  it  is  the 
same  Isabel  that  used  to  climb  the  rail- 
fences  with  me  when  we  went  to  pick  black- 
berries. And  it  is  not  the  same  Isabel ;  a 
change,  and  to  me  a  sad  one,  has  come 
over  the  playmate  of  my  youth  ;  she  does 
not  know  the  friends  of  her  childhood,  or 
at  least  my  plain  black  dress  is  an  effectual 
disguise  when  I  meet  her  in  Broadway; 
and  if  she  has  forgotten  me,  her  memory 
must  have  suffered. 


THE  SPANISH  GENERAL'S  WIDOW.  71 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  SPANISH  GENERAL 's  WIDOW. 

I  met  with  an  incident  recently,  that  so 
completely  illustrates  the  uncertainty  of  this 
world,  and  the  vanity  of  trusting  in  wealth 
for  permanent  enjoyment,  that  I  will  tell  it 
here,  instead  of  moralizing  on  the  general 
subject ;  for  I  have  found  that  the  most  of 
readers  prefer  to  have  the  story,  and  then 
they  will  make  reflections  to  suit  them- 
selves ;  but  if  they  are  treated  to  the  reflec- 
tions before  the  story,  they  are  apt  to  do 
without  both. 

In  the  year  1S00  —  that  is,  just  forty-six 
years  ago,  as  a  very  little  arithmetic  sufficeth 
to  make  apparent  —  Julia  Bell  was  at  work 
in  a  small  fancy-shop  in  New  York  city. 
This  is  a  very  matter-of-fact  way  of  intro- 


72 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


ducing  the  story,  but  the  rest  is  in  keeping 
with  it.  She  was  from  the  country,  and  had 
come  here,  not  to  visit,  but  to  work.  The 
child  of  poor  parents  in  New  Jersey,  she 
had  been  left  an  orphan  at  an  early  age,  and 
thrown  upon  the  charity  of  a  heartless  world. 
So  we  call  the  world  ;  and  yet  it  is  not 
hcartlessness  that  builds  a  home  for  the  or- 
phan, and  makes  comfortable  provision  for 
the  poor.  There  was  not  such  systematic 
provision  made  at  the  time  that  Julia  had 
need  of  it ;  but  when  she  was  deprived  of 
her  natural  protectors,  there  were  those  who 
took  an  interest  in  her;  and  when  she  was 
old  enough  to  do  something  for  herself,  they 
tried  to  find  her  a  place.  She  had  too  deli- 
cate a  frame  for  housework,  and  there  was 
a  neatness  of  manner,  and  readiness  to  do 
whatever  she  put  her  hand  to,  that  led  those 
who  had  the  charge  of  her  to  think  of  put- 
ting her  at  a  trade.  'This  was  what  it  was 
called  in  the  country,  and  yet  it  sounds 
somewhat  coarse  when  applied  to  the  labor 
of  tender  hands.    It  was  this  that  led  her 


THE  SPANISH  GENERAL'S  WIDOW.  73 

guardians  to  look  after  a  situation  for  her  in 
New  York,  and  here  she  was  brought  and 
bound  till  she  was  eighteen.  Julia  was  in 
her  sixteenth  year  when  she  sat  down  at  her 
work  in  the  shop,  in  the  midst  of  a  dozen 
girls  who  had  been  familiar  with  the  city, 
the  most  of  them,  all  their  lives.  I  have 
not  said  that  Julia  was  a  beauty  —  she  did 
not  know  it  herself;  but  the  instant  she  en- 
tered the  scene  of  her  labors,  every  one 
who  saw  her  knew  it,  and  marked  her  ac- 
cordingly. It  is  one  of  the  worst  features 
that  I  ever  saw  in  the  characters  of  young 
women,  that  they  are  envious  of  one  anoth- 
er's good  looks !  I  have  noticed  it  in 
schools,  in  families,  and  wherever  young 
ladies  gather,  that  whereas  wit,  talent,  ac- 
complishment, will  extort  admiration  and 
praise  from  the  companions  of  her  who  pos- 
sesses one  or  all  of  them,  beauty  begets 
envy.  Not  always,  for  sometimes  good  na- 
ture will  disarm  and  expel  it ;  but  it  is  a 
very  common  thing,  and  was  certainly  a 
fact  when  Julia  Bell,  in  the  bloom  of  youth- 
7 


74 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


ful  loveliness,  radiant  with  health,  and  yet 
slightly  paled  with  anxiety  and  fear,  was 
brought  into  the  shop  among  these  girls, 
and  took  her  seat  at  work.  A  slight  titter 
passed  around,  and  significant  winks  and 
tosses  of  the  head  were  interchanged,  as  the 
thought  struck  each  of  them,  that  the  hand- 
somest girl  in  the  room  was  the  one  that 
had  just  come. 

Julia  Bell,  the  orphan  girl,  the  child  of 
the  public,  a  poorhouse  girl,  is  now  at  ser- 
vice. Days  of  weariness  were  before  her  ; 
and  her  support,  the  food  that  she  must 
Lave,  and  her  clothing,  was  to  be  her  only 
,pay  for  years  of  toil.  But  Julia  had  a 
cheerful  heart,  and  it  shone  in  her  sweet 
face,  like  the  smile  of  a  spring  morning,  and 
she  went  to  her  work  to  make  herself  use- 
ful, as  if  a  fortune  were  in  prospect  as  the 
reward  of  her  industry.  Such  a  girl  could 
scarcely  fail  to  make  friends  of  all  who  knew 
her.  Overflowing  good  nature  melted  and 
won  the  hearts  of  her  shopmates,  while  her 
skill  and  faithfulness  soon  showed  her  em- 


THE  SPANISH  GENERAL^  WIDOW.  75 


ployers  that  she  was  one  of  a  thousand. 
Julia  had  not  been  more  than  eighteen 
months  in  the  city,  when  the  mistress  of 
the  establishment  promoted  her  to  the  more 
responsible  and  attractive  duty  of  selling 
the  goods  in  the  front  store.  This  was  an 
era  in  her  life.  She  had  been  in  the  little 
back  room  at  work,  and  up  stairs  to  sleep, 
day  after  day,  with  scarcely  an  hour  in  one 
of  them,  but  Sunday,  for  air  and  exercise  ; 
and  she  had,  time  and  again,  sighed  for 
something  to  do,  that  would  bring  her  into 
contact,  if  not  communion,  with  the  world. 
There  is  a  gift  of  gracefulness  as  well  as 
beauty,  that  nature  sometimes  bestows,  and 
of  a  truth,  our  Julia  Bell  seemed  to  have 
been  a  favorite  with  nature  in  the  distribu- 
tion of  these  gifts.  She  had  the  air  of  one 
born  to  please.  This  seemed  not  to  be 
—  how  could  it  be  —  the  result  of  imitation, 
for  what  had  she  seen  of  the  world  ?  •  It  was 
natural  to  her,  and  all  the  more  winning  and 
striking  because  it  was  no  effort.  Her 
words,  her  smile,  her  motions,  were  nature 


76 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


in  her  sweetest  forms,  and  many  were  the 
observations  made  by  persons  of  birth  and 
fortune,  upon  the  face  and  manners  of  the 
handsome  shop-girl.  Yet  all  unconscious 
was  Julia,  all  this  time,  that  others  were 
better  pleased  with  her  than  with  her  com- 
panions. It  was  all  the  comfort  the  poor 
girl  had,  to  try  and  make  herself  agreeable, 
and  surely  she  was  to  be  commended  for 
seeking  it  in  such  an  innocent  way.  And 
as  Julia's  appearance  was  now  a  source  of 
profit  to  the  establishment,  for  not  a  few 
were  drawn  to  the  store  by  the  remarks  of 
those  who  had  been  there  and  seen  her, 
Julia  found  her  means  increased  to  make 
more  of  a  show,  for  the  lady-proprietor 
found  her  account  in  setting  off  the  charms 
of  her  head-clerk  to  the  best  advantage. 

Among  a  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen 
that  one  day  dropped  in  at  the  store,  for 
there  were  not  so  many  fancy  stores  in 
Broadway  forty-five  years  ago  as  there  are 
now,  and  crowds  in  the  most  fashionable  of 
the  few  were  not  uncommon,  was  a  Spanish 


THE  SPANISH  GENERAL'S  WIDOW.  77 


officer,  whose  fancy  was  more  taken  with 
Julia's  beauty  than  with  anything  that  he  saw 
for  sale.  He  spoke  of  her  as  they  left  the 
store  and  his  gay  friends  laughed  at  him,  and 
rallied  him  for  being  suddenly  smitten  with 
a  shop-girl.  The  spirited  officer  took  offence 
at  their  raillery,  and  promised  himself  that 
he  would  go  and  see  her  again,  more  because 
he  had  been  laughed  at  about  her,  than  for 
any  reason  that  he  could  assign.  It  was 
easy  to  find  an  excuse,  and  the  next  day  he 
wanted  something  in  the  fancy  line,  and  the 
next  day  he  had  occasion  to  go  for  some- 
thing else,  and  he  soon  became  a  regular 
customer,  whose  calls  were  expected.  He 
was  fairly  taken,  and  the  proud  spirit  of  a 
Spaniard  yielded  to  the  charms  of  a  poor 
but  beautiful  maiden,  whose  simple  grace- 
fulness of  manners  pleased  him  more  than 
all  the  dark-eyed  beauties  he  had  ever  seen 
in  the  Peninsula.  He  was  a  youth  of  for- 
tune, and  was  now  across  the  ocean  to  see 
the  world  :  the  thought  was  very  easy  to 
him  that  he  could  carry  off  this  girl  as  a 
7* 


78 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


prize,  and  that  in  bis  own  country  no  one 
would  know  her  origin,  while  her  beauty 
would  be  her  passport,  and  his  sword  would 
secure  for  her  the  position  she  deserved,  if 
it  should  ever  be  questioned  for  an  instant. 
I  have  no  gift  for  telling  love-stories,  and 
therefore  I  pass  over  in  silence,  leaving  the 
ready  reader  to  imagine,  the  ways  and  the 
means  by  which  the  Spaniard  managed  to 
make  himself  acquainted  with  Julia  Bell  ; 
nor  shall  I  pause  to  tell  you  howr  she  was 
naturally  disposed  to  listen  to  the  tale  that 
he  breathed  into  her  fascinated  ear.  She 
was  now  nearly  eighteen,  a  few  weeks  more 
and  she  could  decide  for  herself,  as  to  her 
heart  or  her  hand.  The  weeks  were  soon 
by,  Julia  was  herself  again,  and  it  is  not  to 
be  wondered  at,  that  she  preferred  the  daz- 
zling prospects  which  were  held  out  to  her 
by  the  young  Spaniard,  to  the  less  romantic 
and  dull  realities  of  imprisonment  for  life 
with  hard  labor  in  the  city.  She  married 
him,  and  went  to  Spain  with  him,  and  there 
shone  as  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude  among 


THE  SPANISH  GENERAL 's  WIDOW.  79 


the  grandees  of  the  land.  There  was  not 
a  pleasure  that  wealth  could  buy  which  was 
not  hers;  not  a  luxury  to  be  longed  for  but 
was  flung  into  her  lap  with  a  free  hand,  by 
her  indulgent  lord  of  a  husband.  It  was 
indeed  a  new  world  to  the  orphan-girl  of 
Jersey.  The  vision  of  fairy-land  could  not 
be  more  unreal  to  her  eyes,  than  the  mag- 
nificence in  which  she  revelled,  and  if  the 
unbounded  love  of  her  husband,  who  was 
as  proud  of  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  prin- 
cess, and  her  fortune  a  mine  of  gold,  could 
have  made  her  happy,  she  would  have  been 
in  paradise. 

Spain  is,  and  was  a  theatre  of  revolutions. 
Julia  had  cast  her  lot  with  one  who  was  on 
the  top  of  the  wave,  now  borne  on  to  power 
and  fortune  by  the  tide  of  events,  but  the 
next  wave  might  sweep  him  to  utter  ruin. 
So  it  was.  The  fickle  multitude,  tired  of 
the  idol  of  the  day,  had  dethroned  him,  and 
with  the  party  were  stranded  the  hopes  and 
fortunes  of  our  young  officer.  Nor  was 
this  the  worst  of  it  for  Julia.    She  had  his 


80 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


heart  and  could  she  have  had  him,  they 
might  have  borne  the  reverses  together,  and 
fought  on  in  hope  of  better  times.  But  he 
fell  on  the  battle-field,  and  she  suddenly 
found  herself  the  widow  of  an  officer  who 
was  on  the  defeated  side,  and  therefore  a 
rebel  and  conspirator :  his  estates  were  seized 
upon,  and  she  was  compelled  to  fly  with  what 
little  personal  property,  money,  jewels,  her 
wardrobe,  &c,  she  could  in  a  moment  lay 
her  hands  on,  and  making  the  best  of  her 
way  to  this  country,  she  arrived  in  New  York 
after  an  absence  of  nearly  twenty  years,  al- 
most as  destitute  as  when  she  first  came  to 
the  city  from  New  Jersey.  But  she  had 
resources  within  herself,  a  will  to  do,  and 
with  heroic  courage  she  resolved  to  go  to 
icork :  trusting  in  Providence,  and  helping 
herself  as  well  as  she  could.  For  years  she 
managed  to  earn  a  decent  support,  and  ma- 
king a  few  friends  whose  kindness  she  often 
experienced  when  her  strength  wras  inade- 
quate for  the  burdens  she  had  assumed,  she 
rubbed  along.    By-and-by  the  infirmities  of 


THE  SPANISH  GENERAL 's  WIDOW.  81 


age  overtook  her  ;  the  friends  whom  she 
had  found,  died,  removed,  or  forgot  her,  and 
old  folks  are  not  apt  to  make  new  friends  : 
her  scanty  means  became  still  more  scanty, 
and  at  last  she  was  reduced  to  actual  want. 
What  was  to  be  her  fate?  Must  she  starve 
in  the  midst  of  plenty  ?  Shall  a  city  like 
this  allow  an  old  lady  to  die  for  want  of  food  ? 
VTery  likely  she  would  have  perished  thus 
but  for  the  heavenly  charity  of  a  band  of 
females,  who  had  formed  an  association  to 
seek  for  objects  on  whom  to  expend  their 
alms.  These  pious  ladies,  in  their  walks 
of  mercy,  found  her,  confined  to  her  bed, 
such  as  it  was,  with  sickness,  hunger,  and 
old  age :  they  supplied  her  immediate  wants, 
and  under  the  sunshine  of  their  kindness  she 
revived.  Health  and  some  strength  came 
back,  and  she  was  able  to  be  up  again.  But 
they  could  not  sustain  her  without  aid  from 
the  public  charities,  and  were  reluctantly 
obliged  to  intrust  her  case  "  to  the  proper 
authorities." 


82 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


It  was  in  a  "house  for  the  poor"  that  I 
found  her.  It  is  not  more  than  six  months 
since  I  saw  her  there.  A  few  of  the  facts 
in  her  remarkable  history  were  mentioned 
to  me  by  a  visiter  who  had  been  familiar 
with  them,  and  said  to  her: — 

"  You  have  seen  better  days,  madam?'* 

"  O,  yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  I  used  to 
ride  in  my  coach  and  four,"  and  her  eyes 
lighted  up  with  ardour  at  the  thought  of 
what  she  had  been,  for  Julia  Bell  always 
looked  on  the  bright  side  of  things. 

"  I  hope  you  are  enabled,"  said  I,  "  to 
say  with  one  of  old,  The  Lord  gave  and 
the  Lord  taketh  away,  blessed  be  the  name 
of  the  Lord."  But  I  had  not  touched  the 
right  chord.  The  old  woman  had  never 
honoured  God  in  her  prosperity,  and  now 
that  the  cold  and  cheerless  winds  of  adver- 
sity were  howling  around  her,  she  found  no 
peace  in  believing  in  the  widow's  friend.  I 
urged  her  to  seek  the  Lord,  even  in  the  last 
days  of  her  pilgrimage,  and  assured  her  that 
in  him  she  would  find  more  satisfying  and 


THE  SPANISH  GENERAL'S  WIDOW.  83 
I 

enduring  joy  than  the  brightest  earthly  scenes 
had  ever  shed  upon  her  path. 

But  the  heart  was  cold  and  hard.  Sen- 
sibility itself  had  died  within  her,  and  I 
suppose  she  has  by  this  time  gone  to  try 
one  more  change,  and  that  the  last.  Such 
is  the  story  of  the  Spanish  General's  Wid 
ow  :  nothing  of  incident  in  it,  and  no  effort 
at  description  to  set  it  off ;  but  it  is  a  pic- 
ture of  life  as  it  is,  and  as  such  it  comes 
within  my  plan  to  tell  it. 

I  said  it  is  a  strange  world  we  live  in.  Its 
changes  are  sudden  sometimes,  terrible  of- 
ten. "  There  is  nothing  true  but  heaven." 
I  know  it,  and  I  could  not  doubt  it  if  I 
should  try.  As  I  look  along  the  signs  of 
the  stores  in  any  one  street  of  business,  and 
recall  the  names  that  were  there  twenty 
years  ago,  it  seems  as  if  a  pestilence  must 
have  swept  the  old  inhabitants  off,  and  a 
new  generation  had  arisen  to  take  their 
places.  Men  of  business  have  often  made 
the  same  remark  to  me  respecting  the 
changes  that  are  taking  place  in  their  ranks. 


84 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


and  I  can  see  it  going  on  from  year  to  year. 
There  is  sadness  in  the  sight  and  in  the 
thought. 

And  yet,  after  all,  what  are  riches  and 
poverty,  what  is  the  pleasure  and  honour 
that  wealth  can  purchase,  what  is  the  pain 
that  want  of  it  will  cause,  compared  with 
the  inheritance  that  awaits  us  just  ahead? 
Here  we  live  but  for  another  life,  and  that 
life  is  endless.  We  lay  up  riches,  and  die 
before  we  enjoy  them.  We  live  a  few  years 
here  without  them,  and  die  to  become  the 
joint  inheritors  of  realms  of  glory.  It  is 
the  character  we  bear  that  seals  the  title- 
deeds  to  bliss  or  wo  hereafter.  What  will 
it  matter  fifty  years  hence  to  you,  Mr.  Si- 
mon Wilson,  that  you  were  the  richest  man 
on  'change  to-day  ?  Suppose  you  make 
your  bed  of  bank-bills,  and  sleep  under  a 
canopy  of  gold,  and  shine  with  diamonds, 
will  your  wealth  buy  peace  of  conscience 
in  a  dying  hour,  or  a  drop  of  water  when 
the  last  ray  of  hope  has  been  shut  from  the 
cavern  of  despair?    You  will  forget  your 


THE  SPANISH  GENERAL'S  WIDOW.  85 


sumptuous  living,  and  splendid  equipage, 
and  costly  furniture,  when  the  last  fire  burns 
up  the  earth,  and  the  elements  melt  with 
fervent  heat.  These  are  things  of  to-day 
only.  Eternity  is  before  you  !  You  are 
to  live  for  ever :  to  feel  as  tenderly  the 
power  of  pleasure  or  of  pain,  as  when  now 
you  hear  of  the  sudden  rise  of  your  town- 
lots,  or  feel  a  sharp  knife  piercing  your 
flesh.  Exquisite  joy  or  misery  is  to  be 
your  portion,  Simon  Wilson,  world  without 
end!  And  who  is  more  insane  than  you, 
if  you  make  gold  your  god,  and  worship  it 
a  few  years  only,  and  then,  then,  Simon, 
leave  it  all,  and  spend  eternity  in  tears 
of  bitter,  vain  regret. 

My  philosophy  has  a  future  life  to  spend 
itself  upon.  I  believe  in  a  world  to  come. 
And  that  world  is  to  be  a  world  without 
change.  As  we  enter  upon  it,  we  shall  con- 
tinue for  ever  and  ever,  only  that  we  shall 
go  onward  in  the  line  of  progress  which  we 
commence.  That  is  the  world  for  me.  This 
is  so  short,  so  uncertain,  so  unsatisfying, 
8 


86 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


that  I  mean  to  use  it  only  as  a  means  to  an 
end.  It  shall  serve  as  a  school  in  which  we 
shall  be  trained  for  the  next ;  when  that 
comes,  and  He  who  put  us  here  in  this 
training  process  will  say  the  glad  words, 
"Come  up  hither,"  I  will  be  glad  to  leave 
all  below  and  enter  on  that  which  he  hath 
prepared  for  those  that  love  him.  I  will 
not  fret  at  losses,  or  repine  at  poverty,  or 
murmur  at  swift  reverses  ;  it  will  all  be  right 
hereafter,  and  I  shall  rejoice  in  it  then,  if 
not  before. 


CITY  CHARITY. 


87 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CITY  CHaRITY. 

A  few  weeks  since,  in  the  city  of  Phila- 
delphia, a  young  lady  of  family,  fortune,  and 
beauty,  was  walking  in  the  streets,  and  she 
met  a  little  girl  trying  in  vain  to  get  home 
with  two  baskets  of  fuel  which  she  had 
picked  up.  They  were  too  much  for  the 
poor  thing  to  carry.  She  had  yielded  to 
despair,  and  was  weeping  bitterly,  when  the 
young  lady  in  silks  came  by,  and  seeing  her 
distress,  and  the  cause  of  it,  at  once  offered 
to  take  the  baskets  and  help  her  on  with 
her  heavy  load.  The  little  girl  was  all  un- 
used to  such  kindness,  and,  with  delicacy 
quite  unlooked  for  in  such  a  garb,  declined 
to  put  the  lady  to  so  much  trouble.  "  Then 
I  will  stay  here,"  said  the  lady,  "  and  watch 


88 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


one  basket,  while  you  carry  the  other  home." 
To  this  arrangement  the  confiding  child  con- 
sented, and  there  the  elegant  and  fashiona- 
ble heiress  stood  in  her  beauty,  and  kept 
guard  over  the  basket  of  chips,  while  the 
little  girl  ran  home  and  returned. 

I  tell  this  story  as  more  truly  character- 
istic of  a  generous  and  benevolent  heart, 
more  worthy  of  record  and  eulogy,  than  the 
deeds  of  many  philanthropists  of  the  world, 
whose  fame  is  world-wide,  whose  praise  is 
trumpeted  in  the  newspapers  while  they 
live,  and  graven  in  marble  when  they  die. 
There  is  a  large  infusion  of  charity  to  be 
seen  of  men  in  the  benevolence  of  the  age. 
I  know  an  elderly  lady  whose  name  is  on 
the  published  list  of  many  of  the  societies 
of  the  city  for  the  relief  of  this,  that,  and  the 
other  class  of  suffering  humanity  ;  but  the 
"poor  girls"  who  wait  on  her  ladyship,  and 
the  poor  trades-people  that  come  to  her  for 
their  honest  dues,  and  the  poor  relations 
that  would  be  glad  to  have  some  of  her  su- 
perfluous dresses  and  ornaments,  never  re- 


CITY  CHARITY. 


SO 


member  her  in  their  thanksgivings.  They 
have  no  reason,  then,  to  bear  her  in  mind. 
All  the  good  she  does  is  in  the  organic  way. 
She  is  a  lady-patroness  of  several  popular 
associations  ;  but  she  would  as  soon  think 
of  going  on  a  mission  to  Kamtschatka,  as  to 
enter  a  cellar  to  carry  a  cold  dinner  to  a 
starving  family,  or  to  stand  in  the  street  and 
watch  a  basket  while  the  ragged  owner  was 
running:  home  with  another.  Yet  she  thinks 
she  is  a  notably  benevolent  woman,  and  the 
world  thinks  so  too  ;  and  when  she  dies, 
there  will  be  an  obituary  eulogy  of  her  in 
the  Observer  half  a  column  long. 

Not  a  word  of  censure  does  all  this  im- 
ply upon  those  who  do  good  in  this  way. 
This  age  of  ours  is  distinguished  for  its  sys- 
tems of  doing  good,  and,  beyond  all  doubt, 
the  charity  of  the  kind-hearted  is  thus  car- 
ried to  many  a  habitation  of  wo  that  other- 
wise would  never  be  reached.  The  wisdom, 
as  well  as  the  love,  of  the  compassionate  has 
been  employed  to  devise  ways  and  means 
to  search  and  discover  poverty  and  distress 
8* 


90 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


in  all  its  secret  lurking-places,  and  to  relieve 
it  there.  It  is  a  blessed  thing  to  find  a  child 
of  sorrow  in  retirement,  shrinking  away  from 
the  stare  of  the  unfeeling  world,  and  to  pour 
oil  and  wine  into  the  wounds  of  that  sore 
heart,  and  thus  make  gladness  to  flourish 
where  just  now  was  grief  only,  with  no  hope 
for  brighter  days  to  come. 

Perhaps  it  is  a  morbid  sympathy,  if  such 
a  passion  may  become  diseased,  that  leads 
me  to  look  into  the  condition  of  the  various 
classes  of  my  fellow-men,  to  learn  what  they 
want,  or  rather  what  they  need,  and  to  take 
a  common  interest  in  every  wise  and  prac- 
ticable scheme  for  the  benefit  of  the  human 
race.  Tt  is  a  wicked  world  we  live  in,  and 
wherever  sin  reigns  misery  lives  ;  and  he 
is  a  benefactor  who  pours  one  drop  of  com- 
fort on  an  aching  heart,  or  plants  one  motive 
to  do  better  in  an  erring  mortal. 

Just  drop  your  business  for  a  moment, 
or  wait  till  after  dinner,  if  you  dine  as  early 
as  four  o'clock  —  it  will  be  rather  late  to 
stan  a*  five,  but  it  will  answer  then  —  and 


CITY  CHARITY. 


let  us  take  a  walk  into  the  city,  and  see  how 
the  world  lives.  This  is  Chambers  street. 
You  see  its  houses  are  substantial,  and  ev- 
ery one  of  them,  almost,  is  plainly  such  a 
house  as  good  families  down  town  live  in. 
But  from  this  street  you  can  throw  a  stone 
to  the  vilest  part  of  the  great  city  of  New 
York  —  to  the  region  where  the  most  squalid 
vice  and  the  most  abject  poverty  and  wretch- 
edness unite  to  hold  their  orgies,  fearful  and 
awful  orgies  too,  such  as  the  heathen  might 
shudder  at,  and  which  the  Christians  of  this 
city  regard  either  as  unworthy  of  an  attempt 
to  abolish,  or  as  beyond  the  reach  of  reme- 
dy. Nothing  ever  moves  me  more  than  this 
almost  union  of  extremes  in  the  city :  I  have 
seen  a  poor  blind  beggar  leaning  against  the 
wall  of  the  house  where  gorgeous  magnifi- 
cence was  displaying  itself  in  a  luxurious 
banquet,  the  wine  of  which  would  cost  more 
money  than  it  would  take  to  make  that  beg- 
gar comfortable  for  a  life-time.  One  of  the 
best  men  the  world  ever  knew  was  troubled 
at  the  diversities  in  the  condition  of  men, 


92 


tfFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


when  he  saw  the  wicked  rolling  in  wealth 
and  faring  sumptuously  every  day,  while 
the  virtuous  were  starving.  It  took  the 
philosophy  of  the  sanctuary  to  set  his  mind 
at  ease  about  it ;  and  the  parable  of  Dives 
and  Lazarus,  which  the  Great  Teacher  gave 
us,  scatters  the  last  doubt  as  to  the  final  is- 
sue of  the  matter.  The  next  world  will 
make  up  for  all  defects  in  this  :  and  if  we 
are  disturbed  when  we  see  the  beggar  lean- 
ing against  the  palace  of  the  proud  sinner, 
let  us  wait  till  the  books  are  opened  for  the 
eternal  settlement  of  accounts.  If  that  beg- 
gar have  the  heart  of  Lazarus,  touched  with 
the  love  of  Him  who,  when  here,  was  a 
homeless  wanderer  u  o'er  the  world's  wide 
waste,"  when  he  comes  to  the  house  not 
made  with  hands,  he  shall  rejoice  in  the 
arms  of  angels,  and  sleep  in  the  bosom  of 
Abraham.  Through  gates  of  pearl  he  shall 
enter,  and  walk  the  golden  streets,  and  reign 
as  a  king  and  priest  for  ever.  This  may  be 
the  beggar's  portion,  in  that  better  land  to 
which  we  are  hastening. 


CITY  CHARITY. 


93 


Cheer  up,  then,  lone  child  of  poverty  ! 
Thou  hast  few  friends  in  this  cold  world  of 
ours.  The  society  for  the  relief  of  such  as 
thou  art  may  have  never  found  thee  yet, 
and  we  have  all  learned  that  it  is  unsafe  to 
give  to  street-beggars,  so  that  thou  mayst 
never  have  another  dinner  while  thou  livest. 
And  when  thou  diest  in  the  street,  or  in  the 
park,  where  thou  seekest  a  night's  lodging, 
with  Jacob's  pillow  under  thy  uncovered 
head,  the  city  will  bury  thee  in  Potter's 
field,  and  perhaps  the  doctors  will  have  thy 
body  for  their  knives,  and  thy  bones  for  a 
skeleton  ;  but  then  the  angels  will  be  thy 
companions  and  heaven  thy  home,  if — and 
a  great  ?/it  is  —  thou  hast  an  interest  in  Him 
who  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head.  Poor 
beggar  now  ;  rich  beggar,  blessed  beggar, 
then  ! 

But  I  believe  I  began  this  sketch  with 
the  intention  of  speaking  of  various  plans  on 
foot  in  this  city  to  relieve  the  sufferings  of 
the  multitude  ;  such  an  attempt  will  be  true 
to  my  original  purpose,  which  is  to  show 


94  LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


the  way  in  which  people  live,  and  move, 
and  have  their  being  here,  in  this  world  in 
miniature.  Last  winter  some  one  under- 
took to  make  an  investigation  into  the  num- 
ber of  persons  in  the  city  of  New  York  who 
live  on  charity,  or  are  so  near  to  want  that 
they  receive  aid  from  the  hand  of  the  public 
every  year.  The  man  who  thus  attempted 
to  take  the  gauge  of  human  misery,  obtained 
returns  from  twenty  or  thirty  different  soci- 
eties and  institutions,  some  of  them  volunta- 
ry and  others  municipal,  some  private  and 
others  public,  some  religious  and  others  not 
so  religious,  and  the  result  was  such  as  as- 
tonished every  one.  The  correctness  of 
the  report  was  called  in  question,  and  the 
examination  was  made  again.  After  all  al- 
lowances were  made  for  mistakes  and  repe- 
titions of  the  same  name,  where  the  appli- 
cant had  been  aided  by  two  or  three  soci- 
eties, it  was  still  impossible  to  resist  the 
conclusion,  that  as  many  as  one  person  in 
every  seven  in  the  city  is  thus  assisted  by 
the  hand  of  charity  every  year  !    There  is 


CITY  CHARITY. 


9b 


no  room  for  a  doubt  on  the  subject.  I  have 
looked  over  the  tables,  incredulous  too  at 
first,  but  had  to  give  in,  and  admit  the  facts, 
though  it  gave  me  the  heart-ache.  But  we 
will  not  rest  under  the  painful  impression, 
that  all  these  thousands  are  actually  de- 
pendent for  their  bread  upon  the  bounty  of 
the  benevolent.  Far,  very  far  from  it.  This 
would  be  reducing  us  to  a  point  in  the  scale 
of  public  prosperity  far  below  the  cities  of 
Europe.  But  the  truth  is  simply  this:  that 
in  the  city  New  York  there  are  multitudes 
who  earn  by  their  daily  labour  just  enough 
to  maintain  themselves  and  those  dependent 
on  them  ;  and  if  sickness  lays  its  hand  on 
the  head  of  a  family,  or  one  of  the  mem- 
bers, the  income  ceases  altogether,  or  is  in- 
adequate to  the  increased  expense,  and  aid 
must  be  obtained  from  abroad,  or  there  is 
instant  suffering  for  want  of  it.  Hence  the 
"dispensaries,"  to  furnish  medical  advice, 
and  medicines  also,  to  those  who  are  too 
poor  to  pay  for  them. 

Drop  in,  almost  every  day,  at  one  of  them 


96 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


as  you  are  passing,  and  if  you  are  given  to 
seeking  entertainment  from  realities,  make 
a  pilgrimage  to  one  of  these  dispensaries, 
as  you  would  to  the  pool  of  Bethesda,  and 
there  you  will  see  on  long  rows  of  benches, 
men  and  women,  hundreds  of  them  crowded 
side  by  side,  waiting,  as  did  they  of  old,  not 
for  the  moving  of  the  waters,  but  for  their 
turn  to  receive  attention.  As  rapidly  as 
their  cases  can  be  looked  into,  they  receive 
their  written  prescriptions  and  the  order  that 
provides  the  needed  medicine,  with  which 
they  hasten  home,  to  swallow  it  themselves 
or  administer  it  perhaps  to  a  sick  child. 

Yet  even  this  sight  is  not  half  so  affecting 
as  a  visit  will  be  to  the  almshouse  depart- 
ment in  the  building  in  the  rear  of  the  city- 
hall.  Go  there  of  a  cold  morning  and  you 
will  see  decrepit  old  women,  forlorn  young 
women  with  infants  in  their  arms,  decayed 
old  men,  and  men  with  part  of  a  leg  off, 
halt  and  maimed,  some  with  a  basket  to  get 
a  small  allowance  with  which  to  eke  out  the 
day.    This  is  the  most  real  poverty  of  any- 


CITY  CHARITY. 


97 


thiii£  in  the  midst  of  us.  In  the  commis- 
sioner's  room  you  will  find  a  committee  of 
grave  men  who  hear  the  tale  of  wo  from 
each  new-comer;  and  when  the  truth  of  the 
story  has  been  established  by  as  minute  in- 
quiry as  is  necessary  or  possible  in  the  case, 
a  written  order  is  given  by  which  the  poor 
wretch  is  entitled  to  so  many  potatoes  or  so 
much  meat  every  day,  and  with  this  order 
he  or  she  departs  rejoicing.  Oh  !  it  must 
be  hard  to  be  poor!  God  be  thanked  for 
the  little  that  keeps  us  above  such  want  as 
this. 

And  then  I  have  extended  my  walks  of 
observation,  not  to  speak  of  them  as  having 
any  higher  end,  still  further,  and  have  ex- 
plored the  hospital  on  Broadway,  and  the 
almshouse  in' the  upper  part  of  the  city, 
where  the  poor  are  provided  with  a  home, 
such  as  it  is:  where  the  corporation,  in 
times  now  gone,  were  wont  on  certain  oc- 
casions to  have  for  themselves  provided  a 
sumptuous  feast,  as  if  in  mocking  contrast 
with  the  fate  and  the  fare  of  the  permanent 
9 


9S 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


boarders  of  that  great  establishment.  It 
does  one  good  to  go  there,  or  to  such  places  ; 
to  see  the  last  estate  of  the  poor  ;  the  refuge 
which  poverty  finds  when  the  last  resource 
of  independent  living  has  been  exhausted  ; 
and  he  must  have  a  very  hard  heart  indeed, 
who  will  not  feel  grateful  that  his  lot  has 
been  so  ordered  that  as  yet  he  is  not  an  in- 
mate of  a  poorhouse.  Here  are  some  who 
have  seen  better  days :  who  have  lived  richly 
in  the  city:  one  or  two  had  kept  their  car- 
riages, and  been  envied  as  they  shone  in 
Broadway;  but  fortune,  as  the  heathen  of 
this  generation  call  providence,  disappointed 
their  hopes  ;  their  wealth  melted  like  snow 
in  summer;  their  carriages,  and  houses,  and 
gold,  all  disappeared ;  and  through  one  de- 
gree of  want  to  another  they  sank,  till  they 
were  housed  here  at  last.  And  here  we 
may  be !  I  never  visited  even  a  mad-house, 
without  thinking  that  that  might  be  my  home 
before  I  went  to  my  last  resting-place.  It  is 
well  to  bear  this  in  mind,  and  be  ready  for 
the  worst. 


CITY  CHARITY. 


99 


There  is,  however,  one  fact  that  is  a  con- 
solation to  a  man  who  tries  to  do  the  right 
thing  in  this  changing  world.  It  is,  that 
the  wilful  vices  of  the  inhabitants  of  these 
refuges  of  the  poor  have  reduced  them  to 
this  condition.  Search  and  see.  Pause 
at  the  bed-side  of  that  dying  old  man,  and 
if  honest  now,  he  will  tell  you  of  sin  that 
paved  his  walk  to  this  end  of  the  town. 
Drink,  strong  drink,  has  floated  thousands 
into  this  snug  harbor,  for  so  it  may  well  be 
called  by  those  who  come  from  the  storm- 
tossed  gulf  of  a  drunkard's  home.  And 
those  whom  vice  has  brought  here,  now 
find  that  the  way  of  transgressors  is  hard, 
yet  would  they  go  the  same  gait,  and  reap 
the  same  harvest  of  bitter  fruit,  if  they  had 
life  to  live  over  again.  It  is  not  penance 
that  makes  the  heart  better;  and  as  braying 
in  a  mortar  will  not  beat  folly  out  of  a  fool, 
or  beat  sense  into  his  head,  so  true  is  it  that 
the  sufferings  which  vice  brings  with  it,  do 
not  make  the  sufferers  sick  of  sin.  They 
seem  to  love  it  and  hug  it  when  the  iron 


LIFE   IN   THE  CITY. 


enters  their  souls.  Forgetting  this  princi- 
ple, not  a  few  modern  social  reformers  have 
set  on  foot  schemes  to  convert  criminals  into 
decent  men  and  women,  while  they  have 
overlooked  the  inborn  and  inbred  love  of 
sin  which  must  be  eradicated  by  heavenly 
grace,  before  he  who  has  been  accustomed 
to  do  evil  will  learn  to  do  well. 


THE  OLD  LADIES. 


101 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  OLD  LADIES. 

But  I  am  in  an  episode,  and  will  come 
back  to  the  thread  if  lean  find  it.  On  your 
way  down  from  the  almshouse,  call,  in 
Twenty-first  street,  at  the  asylum  for  aged 
and  respectable  indigent  females.  The 
matron  will  give  you  a  welcome,  and  the 
visit  will  richly  reward  you.  This  is  one 
of  the  pleasantest  charities  in  the  wide  world. 
It  takes  old  ladies,  so  called  in  distinction 
from  those  whom  we  have  just  seen,  because 
they  have  all  of  them  been  in  different  walks 
of  life  ;  in  those  walks  to  which  the  epithet 
respectable  is  familiarly  applied,  though  I 
never  could  understand  the  reason  why  a 
poor  honest  man,  who  had  travelled  one 
road  to  the  grave,  was  not  just  as  respectable 
as  another.  But  then  the  ways  of  the  world 
9* 


102 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


are  not  always  to  be  understood  by  every- 
body. There  are  classes  in  society  that  are 
called  respectable,  and  it  would  be  hard  to 
find  their  right  to  it;  while  others  are  voted 
as  low,  notwithstanding  claims  to  the  respect 
of  men,  which  can  not  be  disputed.  I  do 
not  know  by  what  code  the  managers  of  this 
charity  decide  the  question  of  respectability, 
but  I  believe  they  make  real  worth  the  test, 
and  that  is  the  true  one.  The  old  woman 
who  wants  their  aid  may  have  been  the  wife 
of  a  cobbler  or  a  senator,  it  matters  not ;  if 
she  have  a  good  moral  character,  and  such 
manners  as  will  not  make  her  company  an 
annoyance  to  the  rest,  I  suppose  she  will 
be  reckoned  a  fair  subject  for  the  exercise 
of  hospitality.  There  are  various  and  very 
wise  precautions  taken  to  guard  this  charity 
against  abuse,  as  it  is  easy  to  see  that  the 
introduction  of  one  troublesome  woman 
might  make  the  house  anything  but  pleasant 
to  all  the  rest.  To  prevent  such  a  mis- 
fortune as  this,  the  benevolent  women  who 
direct  the  institution  receive  applications  in 


THE  OLD  LADIES. 


103 


writing  from  the  friends  of  those  who  wish 
to  get  an  individual  into  the  asylum,  and 
then  the  case  is  examined  into  by  a  visiting 
committee,  until  they  are  satisfied  she  is  a 
fair  subject  for  their  consideration.  She 
then  pays  into  the  treasury,  or  her  friends 
pay  for  her,  the  sum  of  fifty  dollars,  as  an 
initiation  fee  ;  which  is  not  only  something 
to  aid  the  funds  of  the  institution,  but  is 
also  a  sort  of  endorsement  that  the  subject 
has  respectable  connexions.  So  the  asylum 
is  not  open  for  paupers,  but  for  those  who, 
having  known  something  of  the  comforts  of 
life,  would  find  a  refuge  to  which  they  may 
flee  in  their  old  age.  Its  doors  are  not  open 
to  any  that  are  under  sixty  years  of  age,  and 
this  provision  is  wise,  as  will  be  apparent  on 
a  moment's  reflection.  Then  the  applicant 
signs  a  release  in  favor  of  the  institution  of 
all  the  property  she  may  have,  which  must 
be  very  little,  and  of  all  the  property  into 
the  possession  of  which  she  may  come  here- 
after: this  is  all  right,  as  the  asylum  agrees 
to  take  care  of  her  for  the  remainder  of  her 


104 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


natural  life,  and  whatever  property  she  may 
bring  or  bequeath  will  aid  in  giving  the  same 
boon  to  others  equally  needy.  These  va- 
rious and  very  reasonable  preliminaries  hav- 
ing been  complied  with,  the  doors  of  the 
asylum  are  thrown  open  for  the  reception 
of  the  old  lady,  and  she  enters  to  begin  a 
new  life,  or  rather,  to  spin  out  the  latter  end 
of  one  now  nearly  gone. 

A  singular  community  of  old  crones  as 
you  will  find  anywhere  in  the  world,  is  this 
gathering  of  infirm,  aged,  and  respectable 
females.  I  always  had  a  reverence  for  old 
women.  There  is  something  about  them 
that  moves  my  heart  more  deeply  and  ten- 
derly than  the  sight  of  an  old  man  ;  and  I 
was  never,  even  when  a  boy,  willing  to 
laugh  with  others  at  the  bent  back  or  hooked 
nose  that  poverty  and  old  age  so  often  fur- 
nish to  an  old  woman.  I  would  rather 
minister  to  their  relief,  and  waken  a  smile 
on  their  wrinkled  brows.  To  one  who 
could  find  any  pleasure  in  the  company  of 
the  "  old  and  childish,"  it  will  be  an  occa- 


THE  OLD  LADIES. 


105 


sion  of  rare  interest  to  enter  their  rooms 
and  converse  with  them  of  the  ways  by 
which  they  have  been  led.  They  are  fond 
of  talking — old  folks  usually  are;  and  if 
you  will  sit  down  sociably  with  them,  and 
ask  them  of  former  days,  and  old  friends, 
they  will  tell  you  tales  to  which  you  will 
listen  with  deep  and  fixed  attention.  One 
of  their  greatest  aqiusements  now,  is  to  visit 
one  another  and  talk  about  old  times.  The 
most  infirm  are  in  rooms  on  the  lower  floors, 
and  the  more  active  and  able  take  the  upper 
chambers,  but  the  most  of  them  are  strong 
enough  to  get  about  from  room  to  room, 
and  even  up  and  down  stairs,  to  make  visits, 
or  to  go  to  the  dining  hall.  Some  of  them 
also  visit  their  friends  in  the  city,  returning 
at  a  time  that  is  agreed  upon  before  they 
go,  that  there  may  be  no  ground  for  anxiety 
in  consequence  of  their  absence.  Perhaps 
you  could  find  in  no  other  place  such  a  va- 
riety of  character  and  temper,  as  in  this 
little  household.  One  has  been  the  subject 
of  trials,   disappointments,  and  reverses, 


106 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITT. 


which,  instead  of  being  sanctified  to  her 
spiritual  improvement,  have  soured  all  the 
springs  of  affection  in  her  soul,  and  she  is 
now  so  peevish  and  fretful,  so  discontented 
and  suspicious,  that  nothing  pleases  her : 
she  finds  fault  with  her  nurse  and  her  food, 
her  neighbours  and  herself,  wishes  she  was 
dead  sometimes,  and  is  dreadfully  afraid 
when  she  is  a  little  sick  lest  death  is  indeed 
at  hand.  Another  has  seen  prosperity,  and 
has  been  so  much  accustomed  to  being 
waited  upon  thai  she  has  no  thought  of  be- 
ing able  to  do  anything  for  herself :  she 
wants  somebody  to  be  running  for  her  all  the 
time,  and  she  thinks  it  very  hard  that  she  has 
to  take  things  as  they  come,  as  the  rest  do. 
A  third  has  found  that  her  afflictions,  pover- 
ty, and  loss  of  friends,  have  been  the  means 
of  weaning  her  affections  from  things  below, 
and  her  treasure  is  now  in  heaven  ;  she  has 
sweetly  yielded  her  will  to  her  heavenly 
Father's,  and  is  quietly  waiting  till  hei 
change  comes,  that  she  may  be  admitted  in- 
to the  rest  that  remains  for  the  people  of 


THE  OLD  LADIES. 


107 


God.  She  loves  not  the  world,  but  she  is 
willing  to  wait  all  the  days  of  her  appointed 
time,  and  is  only  happier  as  the  bright  vis- 
ion of  the  future  opens  on  her  dim  eyes. 
The  last  time  I  was  there,  I  sat  down  in 
her  room  in  a  low  rocking-chair,  with  a 
listed  seat,  and  taking  her  large-printed 
testament  in  my  hand,  I  opened  to  the 
fourteenth  chapter  of  the  Gospel  by  St. 
John,  and  read:  "Let  not  your  heart  be 
troubled  ;  ye  believe  in  God,  believe  also 
in  me.  In  my  Father's  house  are  many 
mansions." — "  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for 
you."  I  said  to  her,  after  reading  a  few  of 
the  introductory  verses: — 

"  Do  you  look  forward  to  those  mansions 
as  soon  to  be  yours  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  can  read  my  title  clear  to  man- 
sions in  the  skies.  It  is  now  my  consola- 
tion to  look  up  to  my  Father's  house  in 
Heaven  ;  and  I  am  very  near  my  journey's 
end.    I  shall  soon  be  home." 

"  Home  is  a  sweet  word,"  I  said  to  her ; 
"  have  you  never  found  it  so?" 


108 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


44  When  I  was  young,"  she  said,  "I  had 
a  home,  as  bright  a  one  as  the  sun  evei 
shone  upon  :  parents  and  sisters  and  an  only 
brother  :  we  had  everything  that  heart  could 
ask,  and  a  thought  of  sorrow  never  crossed 
our  minds.  But  what  a  changing  world 
this  is !  Our  property  was  swept  away 
from  us  by  the  failure  of  some  for  whom 
my  father  was  security,  and  we  were  torn 
asunder  to  get  our  living  the  best  way  we 
could.  The  rest  of  the  family  are  dead.  I 
have  struggled  along  one  way  and  another, 
and  at  last  have  found  a  shelter  for  my  old 
bones  here.  God  has  been  good  to  me 
always." 

"  When  did  you  begin  to  love  God  and 
serve  him  ?" 

"I  was  but  a  child  when  my  mother 
taught  me  the  way  to  Heaven,  and  I  have 
always  found  it  good  to  put  my  trust  in  the 
Lord.  He  has  said  that  when  my  father 
and  mother  forsake  me,  He  will  take  me 
up  ;  and  when  I  lost  the  parents  that  would 
have  taken  care  of  me  if  they  had  been 


THE  OLD  LADIES. 


109 


able,  the  Lord  raised  up  other  friends,  and 
they  have  been  kind  far  beyond  my  deserts. 
See  what  a  nice  place  they  have  provided 
for  me  now  that  I  am  old  and  helpless.  Here 
I  am  fed  and  clothed,  nursed  when  I  am 
sick,  waited  on  as  if  I  were  a  lady-born, 
and  I  have  good  company  all  the  time,  so 
that  I  don't  think  I  could  be  better  off  any- 
where. We  ought  to  be  very  thankful  for 
what  the  good  Lord  does  for  us  in  our  old 
age." 

I  prayed  with  her,  and  the  joy  which  she 
expressed  as  I  took  leave  of  her  was  enough, 
and  more  than  enough,  to  repay  me  for  my 
visit.  Again  and  again  she  thanked  me,  and 
pressed  my  hand  within  her  bony  fingers, 
and  asked  me  to  come  once  more,  and  see 
her.  I  intend  to.  It  does  one  good  to  visit 
such  a  house  ;  to  mingle  with  those  on 
whom  the  hand  of  the  Lord  has  pressed 
heavily,  and  to  see  the  varied  influences 
which  affliction  brings  to  bear  on  the  human 
heart.  Some  hearts  it  softens  ;  and  the  oil 
of  Divine  grace  is  poured  in  so  gently  and 
10 


110 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITT. 


healingly,  that  the  sufferer  feels  that  it  is 
good  to  be  afflicted.  There  is  not  a  more 
beautiful  sight  out  of  heaven  than  a  bruised 
spirit  confidingly  resting  on  Him  who 
wounds  that  he  may  heal.  The  Christian 
graces  thrive  in  such  a  soil,  and  bear  ripe 
fruit  for  the  praise  of  Him  whose  work  it  is 
to  renew  and  save.  I  have  known  a  woman 
who  has  been  confined  to  her  bed  forty-three 
years — nearly  the  whole  of  her  life — and 
she  lies  there  still,  and  will  probably  never 
leave  it  till  they  lay  her  in  the  narrow  bed 
where  all  the  living  are  yet  to  lie.  But  she 
never  murmurs.  Nay,  the  very  balm  of 
peace  appears  to  fill  her  heart,  as  she  looks 
from  her  little  window  by  the  sea-side,  and 
beholds  the  beauty  of  the  world  from  which 
she  is  shut  out,  she  rejoices  in  it  with  as 
free  a  spirit  as  if  she  could  leap  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  roam  the  fields  as  she  did  when 
a  child. 

When  trials  thus  press  us  sore,  and  long 
years  of  suffering  follow  years,  we  learn  a 
lesson  of  the  value  of  Divine  grace  to  sus- 


THE  OLD  LADIES. 


Ill 


tain  the  soul.  Just  now  they  carried  by  my 
window  the  body,  or  what  was  left  of  the 
body  of  a  woman  who  has  been  slowly  eaten 
up  with  a  cancer  in  her  side.  I  had  never 
seen  her,  but  have  often  heard  of  her  suf- 
ferings ;  for  months  she  has  been  in  anguish 
that  no  opiates  could  allay  ;  often  gnashing 
her  teeth  with  pain  and  groaning  in  the  ex- 
tremity of  her  distress,  so  as  to  melt  into 
pity  a  heart  of  stone.  But  the  precious 
love  of  Christ  was  her  comfort  through  sol- 
itary and  seemingly  interminable  nights  of 
pain,  when  unable  to  lie  down,  and  of  course 
unable  to  sleep,  she  sat  alone,  while  the  in- 
satiable disease,  like  the  fabled  vulture, 
gnawed  at  her  vitals.  Her  friends  often 
said  she  could  not  live  another  day  in  so 
much  intensity  of  devouring  pain,  but  she 
did  live,  and  in  the  bitterest  hours  of  her 
anguish  a  smile  would  light  up  her  wan 
cheek,  when  the  love  of  Christ  was  the 
theme  of  remark. 

"  Did  Jesus  thus  suffer,  and  shall  I  repine  ?" 
she  would  say  when  sharp  pain  pierced  like 


112 


LIFE  IN  THIS  CITY 


a  knife  between  her  bones.  And  when 
death  came,  she  met  it,  not  as  a  relief  from 
present  suffering,  for  she  was  willing  to  suf- 
fer all  the  will  of  her  heavenly  Father,  but 
as  the  gate  through  which  she  should  enter 
the  city  and  be  for  ever  with  the  Lord  ! 
No  more  pain  !  What  a  land  must  that  be 
where  there  is  no  more  sorrow  or  suffering, 
where  the  hand  of  love,  infinite  love,  wipes 
away  all  tears,  and  "the  smile  of '  the  Lord 
is  the  feast  of  the  soul !" 

One  of  the  most  natural  things  about 
this  establishment,  the  Old  Ladies'  Asylum, 
is  the  anxiety  which  many  feel  to  be  buried 
in  style  !  At  first  we  would  suppose  that 
they  who  had  felt  poverty  for  long  years, 
and  had  often  been  troubled  to  find  the 
wherewithal  to  live,  would  care  very  little 
about  the  manner  of  their  burial,  yet  what 
passion  is  more  natural,  and  we  might  say 
universal  among  intelligent  people.  It  is 
not  a  vain  desire,  but  vanity  may  be  readily 
excited  with  it,  and  so  it  surely  is  with  these 
ladies,  who  sometimes  manage  to  retain  a 


THE    OLD  LADIES. 


113 


little  sum  of  money  which  they  intrust  to  a 
friend  to  keep  closely,  to  be  expended  in 
the  purchase  of  a  silver  plate  for  their  cof- 
fins! And  it  is  so  expended.  The  name 
of  the  old  lady  is  engraved  upon  the  silver 
plate,  the  coffin  is  brought  into  the  chapel, 
and  there  the  funeral  service  is  held  before 
the  withered  remains  are  committed  to  their 
kindred  dust.  This  chapel  is  the  scene  of 
many  interesting  services.  Every  sabbath- 
day,  and  often  in  the  week,  as  many  of  the 
old  ladies  as  can  leave  their  rooms  assemble 
here,  and  listen  to  the  word  of  God.  It 
was  here,  in  this  room,  that  the  sainted 
Milnor  preached  his  last  sermon  before  he 
rested  from  his  work,  and  it  was  a  fitting 
close  to  his  public  labours.  He  was  a  good 
man,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  pause  and  strew  a 
flower  or  two  upon  his  tomb. 

As  this  sketch  is  very  desultory,  I  will 
finish  it  with  a  passage  from  real  life  in  the 
city,  that  has  frequent  parallels,  though  not 
often  is  one  of  such  decided  interest  made 
a  matter  of  record. 

10* 


114 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


"  Take  that,  and  that !"  said  a  drunken 
father,  as  he  kicked  a  little  boy  about  the 
room,  when  he  reeled  in  at  the  close  of  one 
of  last  winter's  days.  It  was  a  drunkard's 
home!  The  only  alleviation  —  no,  that  is 
not  the  word  —  the  only  circumstance  that 
made  it  supportable  was,  that  the  children 
had  never  known  any  better  days  than  those 
of  misery,  hunger,  and  cold.  The  father 
was  a  drunkard  :  the  mother  was  a  drunk- 
ard, the  worst  of  the  two,  if  worst  there  could 
be  when  both  were  at  the  very  foot  of  the 
ladder,  common  drunkards.  A  drunken 
man  is  bad  enough,  but  when  vice  riots  in 
a  woman's  heart,  it  makes  a  hell  of  more 
intolerable  wo.  Presently  the  mother  came 
in,  as  drunk  as  the  father,  and  even  more 
savage.  A  moment  after  she  entered,  a  lit- 
tle girl,  their  only  daughter,  came  in  her 
way,  and  she  gave  her  a  blow  that  sent  her 
headlong  into  the  fire.  The  poor  thing  was 
shockingly  burned  before  the  miserable  pa- 
rents, in  their  state  of  intoxication,  were  able 
to  render  her  any  assistance.   The  next  day 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  HOME.  115 


when  the  situation  of  the  child  was  known, 
she  was  taken  to  the  hospital,  that  she  might 
receive  suitable  attention,  though  there  was 
very  little  prospect  of  saving  her  life.  She 
lingered  along  for  some  time,  but  the  moth- 
er never  came  near  her.  Some  benevolent 
ladies  found  the  child  in  the  hospital,  and 
learning  from  her  where  she  had  lived,  they 
went  to  see  the  mother,  with  the  hope  of 
doing  something  for  her  good.  They  found 
her  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  and  of 
course  insensible  to  the  language  of  kind- 
ness. At  another  time  they  called,  and 
spoke  to  her  of  her  child  now  dying,  and 
begged  her  to  go  and  see  her.  She  refused, 
and  said  she  never  wanted  to  see  her  again. 
u  Can  a  mother  forget  ?"  Probably  the 
love  of  strong  drink  is  the  only  passion  that 
takes  such  complete  possession  of  the  soul 
as  to  drown  all  other  love.  But  even  a 
more  cruel  illustration  of  the  effect  of  it  was 
to  be  seen  in  the  child  —  she  did  not  want 
to  see  her  mother.  Why  should  she  ?  The 
child  had  never  known  the  sweet  power  of 


116 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


maternal  tenderness,  winning  her  heart  and 
binding  her  to  a  mother's  bosom  ;  and  when 
she  came  to  die  in  the  cheerless  ward  of  a 
great  hospital,  with  strangers  all  around  her, 
there  was  no  yearning  of  the  young  heart 
for  the  home  of  her  childhood.  There  is  a 
dreadfulness  about  this  that  is  distressing. 
What  a  home  it  must  be,  to  which  a  child 
does  not  want  to  go  to  die  !  The  case  of 
this  little  child  had  attracted  much  attention, 
and  the  ladies  to  whom  I  have  already  re- 
ferred endeavoured  to  give  her  such  reli- 
gious instruction  as  was  suited  to  her  case, 
but  it  made  little  or  no  impression.  Her 
ignorance  of  everything  but  sin  was  so  deep 
and  impenetrable,  that  all  attempts  to  lead 
her  to  a  sense  of  her  situation  were  fruitless. 
She  was  now  apparently  near  her  end  :  she 
asked  for  a  drink,  and  the  attendant  not 
bringing  it  soon  enough  to  please  her,  the 
little  child  broke  out  with  curses  upon  her, 
to  the  amazement  and  horror  of  those  who 
were  gathered  around  her.  Would  it  be 
believed,  that  one  so  young  had  reached  a 


THB  DRUNKARD'S  HOME.  117 


depth  of  depravity  so  fearful !  And  so  she 
died.  The  child  of  a  drunken  mother,  dy- 
ing in  an  hospital  with  curses  on  her  lips! 
Here  is  a  whole  sermon  in  this  story  of  a 
few  lines.  And  it  doubtless  brings  out 
more  of  life  in  the  city  than  many  pages  of 
detailed  description.  Hundreds  of  families 
dwell  in  the  midst  of  us,  in  whose  dwellings 
a  beam  of  comfort,  a  ray  of  happiness,  never 
shines.  It  is  misery  in  the  morning,  worse 
at  noon,  wretchedness  at  night.  The  use 
of  strong  drink  is  the  beginning,  the  parent 
of  this  misery.  Strange,  is  it  not,  that  men, 
with  reason,  to  say  nothing  of  conscience, 
will  buy  or  sell  such  misery  ? 


18 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HOURS  IN  A  MADHOUSE. 

"Did  you  ever  think  that  you  would  one 
day  be  insane  ?"  said  a  friend  of  mine  to  me 
the  other  day. 

"  Never,"  replied  I,  "  except  when  I  am 
speculating  upon  insanity.  Then  I  find  my 
own  mind  so  thoroughly  enchanted  with  the 
subject  itself,  that  I  am  tempted  to  think  I 
am  going  crazy." 

It  may  be  a  morbid  sympathy,  but  there 
is  no  one  class  of  suffering  humanity  to 
which  my  heart  goes  out  with  more  intense 
longings  for  their  relief,  than  to  the  inmates 
of  a  lunatic  asylum.  The  poor  have  their 
sources  of  comfort  in  the  soul :  the  sick  find 
in  the  kindness  that  is  shown  them  a  balm 
for  sorrows:  the  deaf,  the  dumb,  the  blind, 
have  avenues  through  which  bliss  may  flow 


HOURS  IN  A  MADHOUSE. 


119 


into  their  spirits  ;  and  there  is  sweetness  in 
ministering  to  the  wants  and  soothing  the 
woes  of  the  sons  and  daughters  of  distress, 
thus  thrown  upon  our  sympathies  and  ap- 
pealing to  us  for  aid.  But  who  can  minis- 
ter to  a  mind  diseased?  How  often  is  it 
true  that  the  very  attempt  to  give  joy  and 
peace  to  a  disordered  intellect  is  mistaken 
for  a  design  to  injure,  and  the  language  of 
kindness  is  construed  into  the  wile  of  an 
enemy ! 

"Help  me  out  of  this  horrid  place,"  said 
a  lady  to  me  the  other  day  in  the  hall  of  an 
asylum.  She  had  been  consigned  to  the 
prison  of  the  heart  by  friends  who  loved  her 
tenderly,  and  in  years  of  love  had  rejoiced 
in  the  beams  of  her  supernaturally  bright 
and  flashing  eye.  But  disease  had  racked 
her  brain,  and  she  was  crazed  !  She  was 
taken  from  the  bosom  of  a  once  happy  fami- 
ly, any  one  of  whom  would  have  cheerfully 
gone  to  prison  in  her  room,  and  all  uncon- 
scious of  the  malady  with  which  she  was 
afflicted,  she  was  shut  within  the  walls  of 


120 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


the  hospital  for  the  insane.  She  had  sense 
enough  to  know  that  she  was  among  the 
mad,  and  when  a  stranger  came  in,  she  was 
reminded  of  the  days  when  she  was  at  liber- 
ty and  home,  and  the  thought  of  escape 
seized  her. 

"I  am  not  deranged,"  she  whispered,  as 
she  followed  me  down  the  corridor;  "they 
brought  me  here  because  they  thought  I 
was ;  but  you  will  help  me  out,  and  I  shall 
be  once  more  in  that  dear  home." 

I  quieted  her  as  well  as  I  could,  and 
turned  away  to  get  out  of  her  sight.  In  one 
such  case  what  a  long  tissue  of  associations 
springs  to  mind,  and  how  the  heartstrings 
are  torn  with  sympathy !  Here  was  the 
wife  and  the  mother  shut  out  from  all  the 
accustomed  sources  of  happiness  in  which 
she  had  but  recently  found  so  much  delight, 
and  with  all  her  deprivations  added  to  the 
terrible  thought  that  she  was  not  mad.  It 
would  seem  to  be  better  that  she  should 
sink  under  the  consciousness  of  the  truths 
than  thus  draw  misery  from  the  delusion 


HOURS  IN  A  MADHOUSE. 


121 


that  she  was  an  innocent  convict  among  the 
condemned. 

A  venerable  old  lady  was  haunted  with 
the  belief  that  she  was  the  mother  of  Wash- 
ington, and  that  he  and  the  great  men  of 
his  time  were,  in  spirit,  her  companions. 
This  illusion  had  possessed  her  mind  until 
she  was  no  longer  a  suitable  inmate  of  the 
family,  and  a  place  was  found  for  her  in  the 
asylum.  What  a  place  was  this  for  one  in 
the  decline  of  life  ;  inured  only  to  luxury, 
and  revelling  in  fancy,  as  she  had  always 
in  fact  been  only  in  the  society  of  the  ele- 
gant and  refined.  But  here  she  was  a 
queen-mother  among  her  associates,  dis- 
daining familiar  converse  with  any  but  the 
noble  shades  of  the  departed,  who  came 
thickening  around  her  in  the  twilight,  and 
paying  homage  at  her  court.  With  a  dig- 
nified wave  of  her  hand  she  bade  them  ap- 
proach, and  received  them  with  majestic 
grace,  as  if  royalty  were  her  daily  study. 
It  was  not  so  painful  to  contemplate  her 
madness;  and  I  have  been  deeply  interested 
11 


122 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


in  some  of  the  views  which  Dr.  Earle,  of 
the  Bloomingdale  asylum,  has  advanced 
respecting  the  happiness  of  the  insane.  He 
thinks  that,  as  a  class  of  people,  they  are 
far  from  being  the  most  miserable.  He 
treats  them,  too,  like  rational  beings;  gives 
them  lectures  on  philosophy  and  poetry; 
feeds  their  fancy  for  the  beautiful,  the  curi- 
ous, and  the  great;  and  thus  finds  the  means 
of  introducing  into  their  minds  some  gleams 
of  sunshine  to  cheer  the  darkness  that  must 
reign  there  with  so  little  interruption.  He 
was  walking  one  day  in  front  of  the  asylum, 
and  a  crazy  woman  sitting  on  the  grass 
said : — 

"  One,  two,  buckle  my  shoe." 

He  went  on  with  "  three,  four,"  and  she 
matched  it  with  a  rhyme,  and  so  on  till  the 
old  ditty  was  exhausted,  and  he  still  pursued 
the  numbers  till  she  had  made  rhymes  for 
the  whole  of  them  to  the  neighborhood  of 
forty.  Here  was  the  effort  of  a  philanthro- 
pist and  a  philosopher  to  awaken  thought, 

connected  thought,  in  the  mind  of  a  maniac. 

i 


HOTTRS  IN  A  MADHOUSE. 


123 


Dr.  Woodward,  of  Worcester,  and  Dr. 
Brigham,  of  Utica,  have  been  very  success- 
ful also  in  these  efforts.  In  fact,  there  is 
no  field  of  experiment  and  observation  more 
interesting  than  the  wilderness  of  ruined 
mind.  We  may  traverse  it  with  melan- 
choly steps,  but  as  there  is  pleasure  in 
ministering  to  the  heirs  of  sorrow,  there  is 
much  to  be  reaped  in  these  regions  of  blight 
and  gloom. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  image  which  I 
once  saw  through  a  grated  door  in  the 
hospital  for  the  insane  on  Blackwell's  island. 
It  was  a  child  of  not  more  than  a  dozen 
years  old,  who  had  been  crazed  by  fright ! 
And  the  picture  of  fear  was  drawn  on  its 
little  face  !  It  looked  up  with  terror  toward 
the  grate,  and  as  its  wild  eyes  met  mine,  the 
little  thing  uttered  a  scream  that  thrilled  along 
the  fibres  of  the  heart,  and  then  buried  its 
face  under  the  rags  that  made  its  bed.  This 
was  a  pauper  child  —  a  crazy  pauper  child, 
frightened  out  of  its  wits.  It  is  dead,  doubt- 
less, before  this  ;  and  who  but  would  wish 


124 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


that  death  would  release  it  from  agony  for 
which  life  has  no  solace  or  cure  ! 

Dr.  Earle  is  fond  of  rousing  his  lunatic 
patients,  or  rather  of  tempting  them  to  the 
exercise  of  faculties  such  as  they  have,  that 
they  may  at  once  find  pleasure  and  im- 
provement in  such  pursuits. 

But  the  most  rational  exercise  for  the 
insane  is  that  of  dancing.  If  it  was  impos- 
sible always  for  me  to  understand  how  sen- 
sible people  could  spend  their  time  in  dan- 
cing, there  seemed  to  be  something  very  ap- 
propriate in  the  amusement  for  crazy  ones. 
It  was  therefore  with  great  pleasure  that  I 

accepted  an  invitation  to  a  ball  at  the  

asylum,  the  only  ball  I  ever  attended  in  my 
life.  There  were  few  guests  besides  the 
inmates  of  the  establishment.  To  them  the 
eveninghad  been  a  source  of  high  enjoyment 
in  prospect,  and  their  delight  when  at  last 
the  long-wished  hour  had  come,  was  prob- 
ably never  exceeded  by  the  pleasure  of  the 
most  confirmed  ball-goers  among  the  sound- 
mioded  inhabitants  of  our  city.    The  gentle- 


HOURS  IN  A  MADHOUSE.  125 

man  and  lady  lunatics  had  dressed  them- 
selves for  the  occasion  in  their  very  best; 
and  now  and  then  a  peculiar  fantastic  style 
of  head-gear  discovered  that  the  head  be- 
neath it  was  out  of  order ;  yet  even  these 
indications  of  insanity  were  not  more  nu- 
merous than  would  be  seen  in  a  company 
of  equal  number  out  of  the  asylum  and  in  a 
ball-room.  The  music  was  by  a  mad-band ! 
Think  of  that !  Music  hath  charms  even 
for  the  insane ;  and  we  bless  God  that  there 
are  chords  in  the  soul  that  will  vibrate  har- 
moniously when  reason  is  dethroned.  And 
when  the  music  struck  up  and  the  partners 
took  their  places  on  the  floor,  it  was  in  the 
highest  degree  amusing  to  contemplate  the 
gravity  with  which  these  lunatic  dancers 
entered  upon  the  mirthful  business  of  the 
evening.  Not  being  familiar  with  the  art,  I 
can  not  say  how  skilfully  they  went  through 
the  evolutions  of  the  floor,  nor  whether  their 
performances  were  in  all  respects  as  elegant 
as  are  seen  at  the  city  assemblies  ;  but  that 
there  was  ever  a  happier  ball,  or  a  more 
11* 


126 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


profitable  one  than  this,  I  doubt  exceeding- 
ly. The  amusement  seemed  commensurate 
with  the  capacities  of  the  company  ;  and  if 
my  fair  readers  who  are  fond  of  dancing 
will  pardon  me  for  making  a  clean  breast, 
I  will  confess  that  I  think  dancing  a  very 
suitable  amusement  for  the  insane,  and  for 
them  only.  Let  those  who  have  no  heads 
cultivate  their  heels. 

Preaching  to  the  insane  is  a  pleasant  and 
very  useful  exercise.  I  do  not  know  how 
far  the  investigations  of  modern  science 
have  gone  in  search  of  the  nature  of  in- 
sanity, but  there  is  a  delightful  source  of 
comfort  to  me  in  the  fact  that  to  nearly  all 
the  insane  the  gospel  seems  to  be  able  to 
give  consolation.  They  listen  with  interest : 
they  feel  the  power  of  it  on  their  hearts  ; 
they  rejoice  in  its  joyful  sound;  they  want 
to  hear  it  again. 

I  have  been  greatly  interested  in  some 
cases  of  insanity  furnished  by  Dr.  Earle, 
and  published  in  the  American  Journal, 
which  is  conducted  by  the  officers  of  the 


HOURS  IN  A  MAD  HOUSE. 


127 


Utica  asylum.  The  writer  mentions  sev- 
eral curious  instances  of  delusion,  only  one 
or  two  of  which  I  can  copy. 

"  A  young  lady,  while  paying  a  visit  to 
some  of  her  friends,  in  a  section  of  the 
country  very  remote  from  her  home,  became 
concerned  for  the  welfare  of  her  soul,  and 
after  much  anxiety,  tribulation,  and  suffer- 
ing, was  made  happy  by  a  revelation  of  the 
whole  plan  of  salvation.  This  clearness 
of  spiritual  vision  was  afterward  withdrawn 
for  a  time,  but  she  was  again  made  to  re- 
joice at  its  return.  On  the  night  of  this 
second  revelation,  she  perceived  distinctly 
delineated  upon  the  wall  of  her  room  a  fig- 
ure like  that  of  the  Saviour,  but  without 
hands.  On  the  following  night,  as  she  was 
lying  down  and  earnestly  engaged  in  prayer, 
she  felt  herself  lifted  from  her  bed,  and  a 
convulsive  spasm  shook  her  whole  frame. 
This  was  repeated,  and  at  length  she  was 
lifted  up  and  borne  away  on  a  cloud,  while 
surrounding  harps  filled  the  air  with  melody. 

"  Her  voice,  heretofore  tremulous  and 


128 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


husky,  now  became  strong  and  delightfully 
harmonious.  About  this  time,  as  she  was 
lying  in  bed,  singing,  she  saw  upon  the 
ceiling  a  shadowy  arm  waving  to  and  fro. 
Her  happiness  was  ecstatic,  and  she  con- 
tinued to  sing.  She  now  lived  in  continual 
bliss.  Every  time  she  prayed  she  beheld  a 
vision,  generally  a  window,  with  clouds 
passing  before  it.  She  could  pray  with 
much  greater  facility  than  at  any  previous 
period  of  her  life.  One  night,  on  retiring, 
she  placed  her  watch  at  the  head  of  the 
bed.  She  soon  heard  a  noise,  like  the 
cracking  of  glass,  and  the  watch  stopped. 
A  '  breathing'  was  heard  at  the  head  of  the 
bed,  and  when  it  ceased  the  watch  again 
commenced  running.  From  this  and  from 
the  former  incidents  which  have  been  rela- 
ted, she  became  convinced  that  she  was  a 
supernatural  being.  She  thought  herself 
selected  to  be  the  bride  of  the  Saviour. 
Her  body  was  shaken  with  spasmodic  tre- 
mour,  and  her  limbs  involuntarily  assumed 
an  attitude  making  the  form  of  the  cross. 


HOURS  IN  A  MAD  HOUSE. 


129 


While  lying  in  this  position,  she  felt  as  if 
wafted  away  upon  a  cloud  ;  but  at  length  a 
poinard  was  thrust  into  her  side,  withdrawn, 
and  the  stroke  repeated.  Her  sleep  was 
refreshing.  In  the  morning  she  found  the 
minute-hand  of  her  watch  split;  and,  upon 
placing  the  watch  in  her  belt,  it  stopped. 
Looking  through  the  window,  she  perceived 
the  whole  universe  to  be  a  scene  of  agita- 
tion and  commotion.  Although  the  sun 
shone  brightly,  rain  was  descending  in  tor- 
rents, and  the  wind  blowing  with  the  terrific 
force  of  a  hurricane.  The  millenium,  as 
she  believed,  was  at  hand!  She  threw  her- 
self upon  the  bed.  The  music  of  a  march- 
ing army  delighted  her  ears ;  and  every 
time  she  breathed,  the  curtains  of  the  win- 
dows waved. 

"  A  few  days  after  this  she  wrote  letters 
to  her  friends,  and  on  the  following  morning 
found  some  of  the  '  strong  expressions'  in 
them  marked  with  figures  like  the  characters 
of  stenography.  She  told  her  acquaintance 
that  she  believed  they  were  made  by  God. 


130 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


The  letters  were  now  sealed,  but  not  for- 
warded. The  next  day,  a  gentleman  having 
called  to  whom  she  wished  to  read  them, 
they  opened  without  effort,  as  if  they  had 
not  been  sealed. 

"  She  now  began  to  visit  the  sick,  believ- 
ing that  her  touch  would  restore  them,  and 
bearing  in  mind  the  following  texts  of  Scrip- 
ture :  Matt.  xxi.  21;  Mark  xi.  23  ;  Luke 
xvii.  6.  She  also  spent  hours  in  looking  at 
the  clouds,  firmly  convinced  that  she  should 
be  translated,  like  Enoch,  to  heaven.  One 
day  she  preached  an  hour  in  the  open  air, 
expecting  every  moment  to  behold  the  re- 
ality of  the  scene  delineated  by  West,  in 
his  picture  of  Death  upon  the  Pale  Horse. 
Much  accustomed  to  going  abroad,  she  had 
become  tanned,  and  then  perceived  that  her 
countenance  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to 
that  of  a  picture  which  she  had  seen  of  the 
virgin  Mary,  painted  by  an  Italian  artist. 
Not  long  afterward  she  beheld  a  halo  of 
light  encircling  her  head,  such  as  is  repre- 
sented in  the  pictures  of  the  Saviour. 


HOURS  IN  A  MADHOUSE. 


131 


"  She  became  the  centre  of  attraction  ; 
1  the  observed  of  all  observers.'  The  chil- 
dren of  the  neighbourhood,  even  the  dogs, 
followed  her,  and  she  was  compelled  to 
lock  the  door  of  her  chamber,  to  keep  the 
chickens  from  coming  in. 

"  While  on  board  the  steamboat,  return- 
ing to  her  home,  she  believed  that  Christ 
was  upon  earth,  and  that  the  dead  were 
awakened  and  rising  from  their  graves. 
Among  the  passengers  she  recognised  St. 
John  the  Divine,  and  two  of  the  apostles. 
She  imagined  herself  to  be  Mary  Magdalene, 
and  her  father  (who  had  been  dead  several 
years)  Simon  Peter.  During  the  night  pre- 
ceding the  day  on  which  she  debarked,  she 
was  awakened  by  the  hissing  of  serpents, 
and  the  roaring  and  rushing  of  a  waterfall. 
The  reptiles  were  crawling  over  her,  and 
encircling  her  in  their  coils.  She  thought 
that  the  general  and  final  convulsion  of  cre- 
ation had  commenced,  calmly  closed  her 
eyes,  felt  as  if  borne  away  upon  a  cloud, 
and,  after  the  lapse  of  half  an  hour,  during 


132 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


which  the  sounds  of  the  last  throes  and  ag- 
ony of  expiring  nature  were  continued,  an 
angel's  seal  was  pressed  upon  her  forehead. 
By  this  signet  she  would  be  recognised 
among  the  heavenly  host. 

"  At  one  place  where  the  boat  touched, 
she  saw  several  of  her  former  acquaintances, 
who  had  risen  from  the  dead.  Among  the 
crowd  she  observed  a  large  and  apparently 
most  powerful  man,  *  wearing  a  blue  navy 
shirt,  and  a  light  cap.'  This,  she  believed, 
was  Christ. 

"  She  left  the  boat  at  a  large  town,  and 
stopped  at  a  hotel.  At  the  supper-table,  and 
on  the  following  morning,  at  breakfast,  were 
three  men,  one  of  them  very  similar  in  ap- 
pearance to  her  deceased  father.  On  the 
latter  occasion,  as  she  looked  at  the  person 
last  mentioned,  his  eyeballs  glared  like  fire, 
and  she  became  convinced  that  he  was  God, 
and  his  companions  the  Son  and  the  Holy 
Ghost.    They  were  the  true  Trinity. 

"Proceeding  in  another  boat  toward 
home,  she  saw,  upon  the  surface  of  the 


HOURS  IN  A  MADHOUSE. 


133 


river,  the  reflection  of  a  large  army  in  heav- 
en, many  of  the  horsemen  being  clad  in 
mail,  and  leaning  forward  upon  the  necks 
of  their  chargers.  For  several  days  in  suc- 
cession she  felt  rain  descending  from  heaven 
upon  her  face.  Once  as  she  looked  up- 
ward it  did  not  descend.  She  prayed  fer- 
vently, again  looked  up,  and  her  prayer 
was  answered  by  the  falling  rain. 

"  Among  the  ornaments  worn  by  her, 
were  a  valuable  ring,  a  pencil-case,  and  a 
watch,  all  of  gold,  and  gifts  of  her  deceased 
father.  Upon  being  asked  by  a  clergyman, 
who  was  a  fellow-passenger,  if  she  believed 
it  proper  to  wear  jewels,  she  was  immedi- 
ately seized  with  compunction  for  her  trans- 
gressions in  this  respect.  Carved  upon  the 
watch  there  was  a  serpent,  whose  eye  was 
represented  by  an  emerald.  She  looked 
upon  it,  and  the  eye  glared  at  her  with  a 
light  so  fearful,  so  hideous,  and  so  brilliant, 
that  she  was  unable  to  withstand  its  power. 
Determined  to  sever  the  last  link  by  which 
she  was  bound  to  earth,  she  seized  the  ring, 
12 


134 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


the  pencil-case,  and  the  watch,  and  threw 
them  overboard  into  the  river." 

Those  who  are  interested  in  the  statistics 
of  insanity,  and  those  who  are  fond  of  pur- 
suing inquiries  into  the  fields  which  the 
subject  opens,  will  discern  much  to  gratify 
their  curiosity  in  the  report  of  the  managers 
of  the  New  York  State  Lunatic  Asylum, 
made  to  the  legislature  in  January  last. 
There  have  been  553  patients  in  that,  asy- 
lum during  the  year,  and  the  treatment  has 
been  so  successful,  that,  of  the  268  dis- 
charged, all  but  34  were  either  cured  or 
improved,  and  more  than  one  half  were  pro- 
nounced entirely  recovered.  Of  the  285 
remaining  at  the  end  of  the  year,  there  were 
143  men  and  142  women,  a  singular  in- 
stance of  equality  in  the  number  from  the 
sexes.  Of  the  persons  in  the  asylum  the 
past  year,  4  were  clergymen  ;  11  were  law- 
yers ;  18  were  teachers ;  6  were  boys,  and 
27  girls,  in  school ;  344  were  females  em- 
ployed in  housework,  that  is,  I  suppose, 
females  accustomed  to  attend  to  their  own 


HOURS  IN  A  MADHOUSE. 


135 


domestic  concerns.  It  is  a  curious  fact, 
that  at  this  institution  more  married  persons 
than  single  ones  are  received,  while  the  re- 
verse is  true  of  almost  all  other  lunatic  asy- 
lums. 

The  causes  of  insanity  are  worthy  of 
special  attention.  One  man  is  set  down  as 
made  crazy  by  "  preaching  sixteen  days  and 
nights;"  and  the  only  wonder  is,  that  it  did 
not  make  the  people  crazy  too.  Religious 
anxiety  is  assigned  as  the  cause  in  102  ca- 
ses !  Millerism  in  19  cases,  and  that,  too, 
in  1S45,  two  years  after  Millerism  had  ex- 
pired by  its  own  arithmetic.  In  a  large 
number  of  cases  the  disease  is  hereditary 
—  a  terrible  entailment;  and  when  the  in- 
stances are  so  numerous  of  its  transmission, 
it  may  well  suggest  the  high  importance  of 
precautionary  measures  in  the  cases  of  those 
who  have  any  reason  to  anticipate  the  in- 
heritance. Twelve  women  are  in  the  asy- 
lum by  the  "  abuse  of  husbands  ;"  thirteen 
men,  and  only  five  women,  from  "  disap- 
pointment in  love." 


136 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


I  would  extend  this  compilation  much 
further,  but  for  the  fear  that  others  will 
not  find  the  same  interest  in  the  study 
that  I  do.  And  I  can  not  more  appropri- 
ately bring  this  article  to  a  close  than  by 
quoting  from  Dr.  Earle,  to  whose  labors  I 
have  already  referred  ;  whose  writing  dis- 
covers the  scholar  as  readily  as  his  success 
demonstrates  his  ability  and  knowledge  in 
his  peculiar  profession.  Speaking  of  insan- 
ity, and  the  means  of  its  cure,  he  says  : — 

"  No  palliation,  no  specious  argument,  no 
artificial  gloss,  can  divest  it  of  its  deformity, 
or  conceal  its  melancholy  horrors.  Beneath 
its  sway  reason  is  deprived  of  her  throne, 
and  alienated  from  her  empire ;  the  most 
glorious  attribute  of  man  is,  for  the  time, 
destroyed  ;  the  distinctive  characteristic  of 
our  race  is  obliterated,  and  he  who  was 
*  exalted  to  the  heavens,'  is  brought  down 
to  the  earth.  Yet  often,  in  its  most  pro- 
tracted forms,  when  years,  both  many  and 
long,  have  rolled  away  beneath  its  influence, 
when  the  sands  in  the  glass  of  time  are  near- 


HOURS  IN  A  MADHOUSE.  137 

ly  spent,  and  the  flame  of  life  is  flickering 
toward  extinction,  the  mind  rises  superior 
to  the  power  which  has  crushed  it,  and,  like 
the  sun  at  the  close  of  a  clouded  day,  shines 
forth  in  the  brightness  and  beauty  of  its  pri- 
meval lustre.  '  So  blessings  brighten  ere 
they  take  their  flight.'  And  when  this  re- 
sumption of  the  throne  of  reason  does  not 
occur  in  life,  it  is  a  blessed  consolation  of 
the  Christian's  faith,  that  the  trammels  of 
earth  can  not  be  borne  beyond  the  grave  ; 
that,  when  the  1  silver  cord  is  loosed,  and 
the  golden  bowl  is  broken,'  all  the  dross 
that  dimmed  and  tarnished  the  lustre  of  the 
soul  shall  be  severed  from  that  spiritual  es- 
sence, and  it  shall  stand,  as  stand  the  souls 
of  those  more  fortunate  in  their  temporal 
existence,  before  a  tribunal  of  unerring  jus- 
tice, in  the  realm  where  Love,  and  Life, 
and  Light,  a  glorious  triune,  eternal  as  the 
Power  from  which  they  sprang,  shall  oblit- 
erate the  shadowed  past,  in  the  effulgence 
and  beatitude  of  the  present." 

12* 


138 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  WOMAN  WHO  WANTED  TO  BE  TURNED  ! 

In  the  midst  of  those  pleasures  that  clus- 
ter thick  about  the  fireside,  I  was  forgetting 
the  outer  world,  when  the  door-bell  rang, 
and  presently  the  servant  announced  that  a 
woman  wished  to  see  me.  I  stepped  into 
the  hall,  and  there  was  standing  in  the  door 
a  pretty  woman  of  perhaps  five-and-twenty 
years,  who  said  to  me,  in  a  brogue  that  left 
no  doubt  of  her  being  from  the  Emerald 
isle: — 

"Are  you  the  p-aist  ?" 

I  told  her  I  was  a  minister,  and  asked  if 
I  could  be  of  any  service  to  her.  She 
looked  at  me  with  great  seriousness,  and 
said : — 

"  I  want  to  be  turned." 

"  What  did  you  say?"  said  I,  supposing 
I  must  have  misunderstood  her. 


THE  WOMAN  WHO  WANTED  TO  BE  TURNED !  139 


"  I  want  to  be  turned,"  said  she  again, 
with  the  same  fixed  countenance,  but  with 
a  still  more  imploring  tone. 

I  was  considerably  puzzled  ;  for,  in  the 
variety  of  applications  which  are  made  to 
me  here  in  the  city,  this  was  the  first  time 
that  I  had  ever  been  called  on  for  such  a 
purpose,  and  I  looked  at  her  with  such  per- 
plexity, that  she  evidently  saw  I  had  not 
comprehended  her  meaning.  I  said  to 
her  : — 

'*  My  good  woman,  I  should  be  glad  to 
help  you,  if  it  were  in  my  power ;  but  real- 
ly, I  do  not  exactly  know  what  you  would 
have." 

She  looked  up  with  still  deeper  interest 
than  before,  and  exclaimed  : — 

"  And  I'm  a  catholic,  and  I  want  to  be 
turned  into  a  protestant,  and  they  told  me 
you  were  good  at  turning  people,  and  so 
I  thought  I  would  come  and  see  if  you 
wouldn't  just  be  so  good  as  to  please  to 
Uirn  me." 

It  struck  me  at  first  that  it  could  hardly 


140  LIFE  IN  THE  CITT. 

be  true,  that  anybody  should  send  a  woman 
to  me  on  such  an  errand,  for  there  were 
certainly  very  many  around  me  much  better 
able  to  turn  catholics  into  protestants  than  I 
am  ;  but  there  was  that  in  the  woman's  air 
and  tone  that  put  all  idea  of  imposition  out 
of  the  question ;  and  she  stood  before  me  a 
poor  Roman  catholic,  asking  to  be  put  in 
the  way  of  knowing  the  truth  and  finding 
eternal  life.  I,  therefore,  inquired  into  her 
circumstances,  her  means  of  instruction,  the 
motives  that  led  to  her  present  step  ;  and 
she  told  me,  with  great  simplicity,  that  her 
husband  was  a  protestant,  who  read  his 
bible  daily,  but  she  had  "fought"  him,  and 
tried  to  stop  him,  for  she  had  been  taught 
that  they  must  not  read  the  Bible  ;  but  he 
seemed  to  be  very  happy,  while  she  was  very 
miserable,  and  she  thought  he  was  in  the 
right  way  and  she  was  in  the  wrong.  She 
had  heard  him  read  some  in  the  Bible,  but 
she  had  no  learning,  and  could  not  under- 
stand much ;  but  he  knew  all  about  it,  and 
had  tried  to  explain  it  to  heF.    And  she 


* 

TEE  WOMAN  WHO  WANTED  TO  BE  TURNED  !  141 

thought  if  she  should  be  a  protestant,  like 
her  husband,  they  would  take  a  great  deal 
more  comfort,  and  so  she  begged  me  to 
take  pity  on  her,  and  turn  her  into  a  prot- 
estant, and  she  would  never  be  a  catholic 
any  more,  at  all,  at  all. 

I  then  attempted  to  converse  with  her  on 
some  of  the  simplest  truths  of  religion,  the 
way  of  salvation  by  the  merits  of  the  Sav- 
iour, and  the  need  of  repentance  and  faith  ; 
but  she  had  no  conception  of  the  existence, 
much  less  of  the  nature,  of  the  plainest  doc- 
trines of  the  gospel.  Her  ignorance  was 
total  and  frightful.  It  seemed  incredible 
that  a  person  could  live  in  a  Christian 
land  and  know  so  little  of  religion.  After 
conversing  with  her  freely,  and  setting  be- 
fore her  the  difference  in  doctrine  between 
Roman  catholics  and  protestants,  I  asked 
her  : — 

"  Do  you  now  sincerely  renounce  the 
errors  of  the  Roman  catholic  religion,  and 
promise  never  to  go  after  them  again  so  long 
as  you  live  V 


142 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITST. 


"  And  that's  what  I  do,  with  all  my 
heart" 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  go  home  and  tell  youi 
husband  that  you  have  become  a  protestant, 
and  do  you  go  to  church  with  him,  and  go 
to  the  minister  who  preaches  to  him,  and 
tell  him  what  you  have  done." 

"  But,"  said  she,  "  can't  you  give  me  a 
little  bit  of  a  line,  just  to  show  them  all  about 
it.    Do  give  it  me." 

1  went  back  into  the  house,  and  taking  a 
large  book,  I  wrote  on  the  blank  leaf  a  for- 
mal renunciation  of  popery,  and,  having  read 
it  to  her,  asked  her  to  sign  it.  She  did  so, 
making  her  mark,  after  I  had  written  her 
name.  I  then  made  out  a  regular  certifi- 
cate of  the  fact,  that  she  had  appeared  be- 
fore me,  and  abjured  the  pope  of  Rome, 
the  devil,  and  all  their  works,  and  put  it  in- 
to her  hands.  She  expressed  her  gratitude 
in  simple  words,  and  as  she  turned  to  go 
away  she  looked  back,  and  said  : — 

"And  I'll  come  next  week,  and  confess." 

"Oh,  no,"  I  said  to  her  '>  "  confess  t© 


THE  WOMAN  WHO  WANTED  TO  BE  TURNED  !  143 

God.  We  don't  confess  to  the  priest  in 
our  church." 

"  But  I  must  confess  my  sins ;  I  want 
to  come  once  a  week  and  confess  to  you." 

11  Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  dear  woman  ;  I  will 
never  let  you  do  any  such  thing  at  all.  You 
must  pray  to  God  for  the  sake  of  Jesus 
Christ ;  he  has  power  to  forgive  sins,  and 
no  one  else.  All  the  priests  in  the  world 
can  do  you  no  good,  unless  you  repent  and 
cry  unto  God." 

So  she  went  her  way,  declaring  that  she 
should  come  again. 

I  have  told  this  story  as  one  of  the  many 
•  incidents  of  life  in  the  city  ;  but  more  to 
show  the  deep  degradation  of  the  poor  Irish 
whom  Providence  has  thrown  at  our  very 
doors.  What  an  awful  load  of  guilt  must  that 
priesthood  incur,  that  crushes  the  souls  of 
its  people  under  ignorance  so  rayless  and 
hopeless  !  I  suppose  a  Roman  catholic 
may,  like  Fenelon,  find  saving  truth  in  the 
midst  of  the  errors  of  that  system  ;  but  how 
few  Fenelons,  how  few  Christians,  can  you 
find  in  the  bosom  of  antichrist ! 


144 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

CRIME  IN  THE  CITY. 

Reader,  you  have  no  heart,  perhaps, 
for  a  chapter  of  crime.  Shall  we  then  pass 
the  subject  and  consider  another  and  pleas- 
anter?  Just  as  you  please,  but  to  describe 
this  city  and  say  nothing  of  its  vices,  would 
be  to  write  a  history  of  the  American  revo- 
lution and  say  nothing  of  Benedict  Arnold, 
because  his  was  a  very  unpleasant  chapter  , 
in  that  same  history. 

I  had  great  difficulty  in  arriving  at  the 
truth  with  respect  to  the  pauperism  of  the 
city.  I  have  greater  in  making  an  approach 
toward  the  truth  in  reference  to  its  vice. 
Some  poverty  loves  to  show  itself — all 
poverty  is  more  likely  to  be  relieved  by  be- 
ing known.  Vice  hides  itself;  the  only 
plant  that  grows  and  loves  to  grow  in  the 


CRIME  IN  THE  CITY. 


145 


dark.  How  shall  we  get  at  it,  and  take  its 
gauge.  I  can  tell  how  many  criminal  trials 
there  have  been  in  this  city  within  the  last 
year,  and  in  any  year  of  many  past ;  but 
there  have  not  been  half  as  many  as  there 
ought  to  have  been.  I  could  tell  you  how 
many  have  been  sent  to  stateprison,  but 
I  have  not  a  doubt  there  are  thousands  now 
at  large  who  ought  to  be  with  them,  or  in 
the  places  of  some  of  them.  Then  there  is 
vice  here  that  the  law  winks  at,  or  never 
meddles  with;  festering  vice;  worse  than 
festering,  cancerous  on  the  vitals  of  society  ; 
preying  upon  it  ravenously,  yet  never  dis- 
turbed; and  then  there  is  vice  here  which 
the  law  can  not  reach,  above  law  and  never 
to  be  reclaimed  till  men,  one  by  one,  are 
made  better  by  the  power  of  God's  grace 
and  truth.  For  some  of  this  vice  the  law 
has  no  remedy  :  not  even  a  piece  of  stick- 
ing plaster.  It  riots  and  rots  here  in  the 
face  of  men,  it "  smells  to  heaven,"  and  who 
cares? 

I  have  been  amazed  to  see  how  indifferent 
13 


146 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


we  are  to  crime  in  the  city,  how  soon  we 
forget,  and  sometimes  how  willing  we  are 
to  spread  a  thick  covering  over  it  and 
"  make  believe"  that  it  is  all  right.  You 
recollect  that  sometime  ago  a  man  was  shot 
dead  in  Leonard  street  near  Broadway  just 
in  the  edge  of  evening.  This  was  three 
years  ago.  I  saw  the  blood  of  the  murder- 
ed man  yet  fresh  on  the  wmite  snow.  Hun- 
dreds of  people  must  have  been  passing, 
and  it  would  seem  impossible  that  the  deed 
could  be  done  without  detection.  Well, 
there  was  a  great  hue  and  cry  raised  about 
it.  They  said  a  woman  shot  him,  and  one 
was  arrested  and  examined,  and  nothing 
being  proved  against  her  she  was  discharged, 
and  there  was  an  end  of  the  matter.  The 
very  fact  is  almost  forgotten,  and  who 
cares? 

I  should  like  to  tell  you  of  the  private 
history  of  another  shooting  affair  that  took 
place  in  our  streets  some  time  ago,  but  per- 
haps I  had  better  not.  If  I  should  tell  you 
that  one  gentleman  seduced  a  young  lady 


CRIME  IN  THE  CITY. 


147 


under  promise  of  marriage,  and  a  friend  of 
his  seduced  her  away  from  him,  and  the 
first  seducer  spit  in  the  face  of  the  second, 
and  the  second  shot  the  first,  it  would  give 
a  virtuous  country  gentleman  such  an  idea 
of  our  city  morals  as  I  should  be  ashamed 
of,  and  therefore  I  will  tell  you  nothing 
about  it.  Yet  these  are  facts,  and  only 
the  outside  facts  of  a  tale  of  misery  and 
damnable  villany  that  perfectly  vindicates 
the  righteous  justice  of  hell-fire,  if  for  no 
other  purpose  than  to  burn  eternally  one 
single  class  of  sinners  whom  God  suffers  to 
walk  on  his  footstool  and  pollute  his  ear, 
for  some  purpose  inscrutable  but  doubtless 
wise.    "  Wherefore  do  the  wicked  live?" 

"  The  Egyptian*  tombs." — Striking 
up  Centre  street  northeast  from  the  city-hall, 
you  soon  come  to  an  immensely  broad  and 
dismally  low  building,  in  the  Egyptian  style 
of  architecture,  something  like  a  decapitated 
pyramid,  spreading  from  Leonard  to  Frank- 
lin and  from  Centre  back  to  Elm  street, 
as  gloomy  in  its  aspect  as  if  Melancholy  had 


148 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


conceived  the  plan  and  Despair  built  it  for 
her  own  amusement.  I  have  a  volume  in 
which  it  is  described  as  "  a  unique  and 
beautiful  building  ;"  unique  it  certainly  is, 
being  in  the  likeness  of  nothing  that  was, 
is,  or  will  be;  but  the  beauty  of  it  must  be 
with  that  of  some  other  things  and  folks 
called  handsome,  but  which  to  my  poor 
vision  was  always  invisible.  It  stands  in  a 
horrid  part  of  the  city,  where  the  ground  is 
low,  and,  with  or  without  reason,  it  has  been 
rumored  that  on  account  of  the  dampness 
it  is  not  a  suitable  place  even  for  villains. 
I  know  the  cells  are  cold,  for  I  have  been 
there,  but  of  this  more  anon.  It  is  200  feet 
wide,  and  250  feet  long;  the  front  or  main 
building  being  occupied  for  the  various  and 
appropriate  purposes  of  "  halls  of  jus- 
tice," and  the  outer  portion  is  a  lofty  wall 
surrounding  the  buildingcontaining225  cells 
for  prisoners.  This  is  called  the  "  house  of 
detention,"  and  here  are  confined  those  who 
are  awaiting  their  trial,  those  under  sentence 
of  death,  and  others  who  are  sentenced  for 


CRIME  IN  THE  CITY. 


149 


a  period  too  short  to  render  their  confine- 
ment necessary  in  the  penitentiary  or  state- 
prison. 

In  the  main  building,  at  the  right  hand  of 
the  area  to  which  you  ascend  from  the  street 
by  a  flight  of  steps,  is  the  police-office.  You 
must  not  fail  to  drop  in,  if  for  a  moment  on- 
ly, to  see  "Old  Hays,"  of  whom  you  have 
heard  ever  since  you  were  a  boy.  He  is 
high  constable  yet,  a  Jew,  regularly  attends 
Dr.  M'Elroy's  (presbyterian)  congregation, 
and  his  eye  and  his  history  are  worth  the 
study  of  a  philosopher.  Cool,  cunning,  and 
courageous,  he  has  been  the  terror  of  rogues 
in  New  York  for  half  a  century.  It  is  won- 
derful with  what  sagacity  the  officers  of  our 
city  police  sometimes  ferret  out  criminals  and 
bring  them  to  justice.  I  say  sometimes,  and 
at  others  they  seem  to  draw  a  net  like  those 
they  use  in  Long  Island  sound  to  catch 
moss  bunkers  for  manure.  It  is  made  for 
little  fish  only,  and  sometimes  when  hauling 
in  they  find  that  a  shark  is  enclosed,  and 
they  are  afraid  to  close  in  upon  him  lest  he 
13* 


150 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


should  let  himself  out  without  permission 
and  take  all  "the  catch"  with  him.  So  big 
rogues  are  often  suffered  to  run  at  large, 
while  the  small  fry  are  caught  in  shoals.  A 
few  days  ago  a  nest  of  counterfeiters  was 
neatly  broken  up.  Two  young  men  were 
known  to  go  to  a  room  in  a  boarding-house 
in  Prince  street,  at  a  certain  hour  every  day 
and  there  to  remain  in  silence  for  some 
hours.  Their  motions  were  watched  with 
more  vigilance  than  we  imagine  to  be  cus- 
tomary in  a  free  country,  until  the  police- 
officers  walked  through  the  door  rather  sud- 
denly, and  found  the  gentlemen  very  in- 
dustriously pursuing  their  business  of  coun- 
terfeiting ;  their  tools,  stock  in  trade,  &c, 
were  seized,  and  they  were  provided  with 
lodgings  in  the  "  Tombs,"  whence  they  will 
soon  be  transferred  to  a  country  residence 
on  the  Hudson,  near  Sing-Sing. 

This  police-office  is  a  schoolhouse  where 
a  thinking  man  will  learn  strange  lessons  of 
life  in  New  York.  [  have  now  and  then 
walked  in  and  leaned  against  the  bar,  while 


CHIME  IN  THE  CITY. 


151 


the  victims  have  one  after  another  been 
brought  up,  examined,  committed,  &c, 
with  such  rapidity  of  execution  that  it 
seemed  dangerous  to  stay  in  that  neighbour- 
hood. Last  week,  as  I  was  passing,  I  saw 
a  man,  the  worse  for  liquor,  amusing  the 
bystanders  with  his  drunken  humour.  Pres- 
ently two  constables  marched  him  into  the 
police-office,  and  placed  him  on  a  bench  ; 
the  justice  asked  him  his  name,  and  with 
mock  gravity  the  fellow  spelled  it  for  him, 
letter  by  letter;  the  justice  filled  out  a  blank 
paper  of  the  size  of  your  hand,  and  in  five 
minutes  from  the  time  he  was  dancing  in  the 
street,  he  was  meditating  in  the  "  Tombs." 


152 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

VISIT  TO   A  PIRATE'S  CELL. 

A  few  months  ago,  I  visited  the  Egyp- 
tian sepulchre  of  a  prison,  before  de- 
scribed. The  watch  department  is  about 
as  gloomy  a  spot  as  can  be  found  anywhere 
above  ground  ;  and  the  quarters  where 
night-stragglers  and  rowdies  are  lodged,  are 
sufficiently  forbidding  to  evil-doers,  one 
would  think,  to  render  them  very  unpopular. 
It  is  therefore  a  matter  of  wonder  that  so 
many  find  accommodations  there  at  night, 
and,  not  satisfied,  come  again.  The  prison 
is  a  long  building,  with  four  tiers  of  cells, 
with  a  gallery  running  round  the  prison,  in 
which  the  inmates  are  allowed  to  walk  oc- 
casionally. As  I  entered,  I  saw  a  young 
man  sitting  up  in  the  second  tier,  reading  a 


VISIT  TO  A  PIRATE'S  CELL. 


153 


newspaper  ;  he  rose  at  once  from  his  seat, 
stepped  into  the  cell,  and  shut  the  door. 
The  keeper  said  it  was  Babe,  the  pirate. 
You  have  heard  of  him.  He  was  convicted 
of  piracy  and  murder  on  board  the  Lavinia 
some  time 'ago,  and  had  been  sentenced  to 
death,  and  twice  respited  by  the  president 
of  the  United  States,  in  consequence  of  his 
declaration  that  he  could  produce  a  witness 
to  establish  his  innocence.  But  the  witness 
has  never  made  his  appearance.  It  has 
been  stated  in  some  of  the  papers,  that 
he  has  respectable  relatives  living  in  this 
city,  who  are  not  aware  of  his  existence, 
and  should  I  mention  the  name  of  the  man 
whose  son  he  was  said  to  be,  you  would 
drop  the  book,  and  start  to  your  feet.  I 
walked  by  the  cell  several  times ;  he  kept 
the  door  closed,  and  evidently  was  deter- 
mined not  to  be  gazed  at.  But  I  could  not 
come  away  without  an  effort  at  least  to  have 
some  conversation  with  one  thus  shut  out 
from  the  world,  and  doomed  to  die.  Per- 
haps, thought  I,  he  may  be  willing  to  listen 


154 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


to  the  voice  of  one  who  has  no  other  errand 
to  his  cell  than  to  do  him  good  ;  perhaps  I 
may  reach  his  heart.  At  any  rate  I  will 
try.    I  said  to  the  keeper  : — 

"  Will  you  go  to  Babe's  cell,  and  tell 
him  that  a  young  clergyman  would  be 
pleased  to  converse  with  him  a  few  mo- 
ments ?" 

The  keeper  returned  with  word  that 
"  Babe  would  be  very  happy  to  see  me." 

I  passed  through  the  low  portal,  and 
down  a  single  step  ;  he  swung  the  iron 
door  back  to  its  place,  and  I  was  alone 
with  the  pirate  in  his  cell. 

A  strange  feeling  crept  over  me  for  a 
moment.  I  had  often  stood  at  the  grate  of 
the  doors  in  the  stateprison,  and  talked 
with  criminals,  but  this  being  closeted  with 
a  pirate  was  new  to  me,  and  it  took  an  in- 
stant to  recover.  I  shook  hands  with  the 
prisoner,  as  he  rose  from  his  bunk  behind 
the  door,  and  very  pleasantly  expressed  his 
pleasure  in  seeing  me  there.  As  I  took  off 
my  hat,  he  begged  me  to  keep  it  on,  as  the 


VISIT  TO  A  PIRATE'S  CELL. 


155 


cell  was  cool,  and  I  might  take  cold;  and 
taking  the  only  chair  his  narrow  quarters 
would  admit,  I  sat  down  in  front  of  him, 
and  entered  at  once  into  familiar  conversa- 
tion with  the  man  whose  name  had  been  as- 
sociated in  my  mind  with  a  loathsome  mon- 
ster of  depravity  and  blood.  Before  me 
was  sitting  a  young  man  of  about  twenty- 
two,  tall,  well-formed,  with  a  bright  eye 
and  intelligent  face,  fluent  of  speech,  and 
with  a  brogue  indicative  of  foreign  birth, 
having  the  marks  of  one  who  had  not  been 
accustomed  to  hard  fare  all  his  days  ;  and 
as  I  looked  on  him — pardon  me  for  the 
weakness — my  heart  went  out  after  him, 
and  I  wanted  to  win  him  back  to  virtue  and 
to  peace.    I  said  to  him  : — 

II  My  dear  sir,  it  is  no  motive  of  idle  cu- 
riosity that  has  brought  me  here.  T  feel  a 
deep  interest  in  your  welfare,  and  would 
speak  with  you  concerning  your  precious 
soul." 

II I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said,  and  I 
continued  : — 


156 


HFE  TS  THE  CITY. 


"  When  you  look  forward  to  another 
world,  what  are  your  prospects,  and  what 
views  do  you  entertain  as  to  your  future 
state  ?" 

"  My  views,"  said  he,  with  great  prompt- 
ness, and  an  air  of  coolness  that  chilled  me, 
"  my  views,  I  suppose,  are  very  much  the 
same  as  yours,  or  those  of  any  other  man." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  there  is  a  great  diver- 
sity of  sentiment  among  men  as  to  their  fu- 
ture state.  Do  you  feel  at  peace  with  God, 
and  prepared  to  meet  him  in  judgment  ?" 

"  My  mind  is  as  much  at  ease  as  that  of 
any  other  man  in  the  city  of  New  York," 
he  replied,  with  firmness  and  energy  ;  and 
then  raising  his  arms  and  extending  his 
clenched  fists  toward  me,  he  added:  "But 
do  you  suppose  I  can  be  at  peace,  when  a 
set  of  bloodhounds  are  pursuing  me,  deter- 
mined to  take  my  life.  I  am  as  innocent  of 
the  crime  for  which  I  am  shut  up  here  and 
sentenced  to  be  hanged,  as  you  are,  but" — 

And  then  he  went  on  with  protestations 
of  innocence  and  denunciations  of  his  ene- 


VISIT  TO  A  PIRATE  S  CELL. 


157 


mies,  till  he  became  furious  in  his  gesticu- 
lations, brandishing  his  arms,  as  if  he  would 
love  to  have  vengeance.  I  tried  to  calm 
him. 

"  Supposing  you  are  innocent  of  this 
crime — and  I  am  not  here  to  ask  or  hear 
anything  about  that — does  not  your  past  life 
afford  the  most  abundant  occasion  for  re- 
pentance of  sin,  and  do  you  not  see  the 
need  of  finding  forgiveness  before  you  can 
be  at  peace  with  your  Maker  V* 

He  admitted  this  truth,  and  I  went  on  to 
set  before  him,  in  direct  terms,  the  nature 
of  sin,  and  the  way  of  life  through  Jesus 
Christ.  He  listened  with  attention,  but  as 
soon  as  I  gave  him  a  chance  to  reply  he 
fell  into  his  former  strain.  And  then  he 
alluded,  of  his  own  accord,  to  his  friends. 

"  I  have  respectable  relatives  living  in 
this  city  ;  but  they  do  not  know  that  I  am 
here,  and  should  not,  if  I  were  to  die  to- 
morrow." 

11  But  do  you  not  wrong  yourself  by  thus 
14 


158 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


concealing  your  name  from  your  friends, 
who  might  be  of  service  to  you  ?" 

"  I  know  I  do  wrong  ;  but  if  I  am  to  be 
hanged,  my  friends  shall  never  have  the  dis- 
grace of  it." 

I  spent  some  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  in 
this  conversation  ;  and,  after  commending 
him  earnestly  to  the  Saviour,  and  begging 
him  to  turn  his  thoughts  away  from  others, 
and  seek  to  be  reconciled  to  God,  I  shook 
hands  with  him,  and  receiving  his  repeated 
thanks  for  my  visit,  I  left  him. 

Since  my  visit  to  his  cell,  this  youth  has 
been  pardoned  by  the  president  of  the 
United  States,  and  is  now  abroad  on  the 
wide  world. 


STATISTIC.  OF  VICE. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

STATISTICS  OF  VICE,  AND  REFLECTIONS  THEREON. 

Of  the  causes  of  crime  in  this  city,  there 
are  two  worthy  of  distinct  mention  —  intem- 
perance and  licentiousness.  I  call  them 
causes  of  crime,  yet  why  are  they  not  writ- 
ten crimes  in  the  law-books,  and  punished 
as  such  ?  I  have  asked  a  question  hard  to 
be  answered,  but  which  I  mean  to  answer 
before  I  drop  the  subject. 

To  make  laws  to  punish  theft  and  mur- 
der, while  intemperance  and  licentiousness 
are  licensed  or  winked  at  by  law,  is  about 
as  rational  political  economy  as  it  would  be 
for  the  state  to  employ  the  Eccolabeion  or 
egg-hatching  machine,  and  set  it  at  work, 
with  three  thousand  more  ovens  of  the  same 
sort,  to  hatch  rattlesnakes,  which  shoukl  be 
permitted  to  escape  into  the  streets,  and  then 


160 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


offer  a  reward  for  their  destruction.  The 
government  first  sits  upon  the  nest  of  crim- 
inal eggs,  and  when  the  whole  swarm  has 
been  hatched  into  life  and  motion,  it  sends 
its  agents  to  catch  a  few  of  them,  and  now 
and  then  it  hangs  one  of  its  own  victims. 
Does  this  sound  like  the  anti-government 
preaching  of  the  present  day  ?  Quite  the 
reverse.  Because  I  love  a  strong  govern- 
ment, that  shall  protect  society,  begin  at  the 
beginning  of  things,  and  lay  its  hand  on  the 
springs  of  crime,  I  set  this  error  in  this  new 
and  odious  light.  Think  of  the  startling 
fact,  that  the  mayor  and  corporation  of  the 
city  of  New  York  have  licensed  3,116  per- 
sons to  sell  ardent  spirits  in  the  last  year, 
and  probably  as  many  more  sell  without  li- 
cense, and  the  government  pays  no  attention 
to  the  evil !  And  when  the  natural  result 
of  this  traffic  appears  iri  the  pauperism  and 
crime  of  the  city,  so  fearful  that  the  truth  is 
not  believed  when  you  tell  it,  then  the  com- 
mon council  talk  of  a  new  police  system, 
and  more  vigilance,  and  all  that,  as  if  they 


STATISTICS  OF  VICE. 


161 


were  really  in  earnest,  to  guard  the  morals, 
and  property,  and  lives,  of  those  who  pay  the 
taxes  !  This  is  the  "  penny-wise  and  pound- 
foolish"  policy  which  all  government  exhib- 
its in  our  country,  and  I  doubt  not  that  the 
government  of  the  city  of  New  York  is  as 
wise,  pure,  and  efficient,  as  any  other. 

So  of  the  licentiousness  of  the  city.  Of 
all  anomalies  in  legislation,  the  indifference 
of  government  and  of  society  to  this  evil  is 
the  strangest.  Pauperism  runs  back  to  in- 
temperance as  its  source  ;  but  I  have  not  a 
doubt  that  with  the  crimes  of  this  city,  pun- 
ishable by  law,  the  vice  of  licentiousness  is 
a  far  more  fruitful  source  than  you  imagine. 
To  obtain  the  means  of  sinful  indulgence, 
the  young  are  tempted  continually  to  crime; 
indulgence  sears  the  conscience,  and  steals 
the  sensibilities  of  the  soul  more  rapidly  and 
fatally  than  any  other  vice,  and  the  avenues 
to  this  vice  are  so  many,  alluring,  and  de- 
ceitful, that  he  would  be  the  reformer  of  the 
age,  and  worthy  of  a  monument  of  Parian 
marble,  who  shall  devise  a  remedy  to  arrest 
14* 


162 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


the  evil.  But  this  parent  of  vice  is  toler- 
ated in  our  city,  licensed  in  others,  and 
treated  in  all  as  a  necessary  sore,  to  be  kept 
running  on  the  body  of  society. 

The  police-office  is  open  before  daylight 
every  morning,  when  a  magistrate  is  present 
to  dispose  of  prisoners  arrested  during  the 
night ;  and  this  court  is  in  session  constant- 
ly until  sunset.  There  are  two  offices,  the 
upper  and  lower.  In  1842,  there  were 
committed  to  the  city  prison,  from  the  lower 
office  alone,  9,530  persons  ;  and  the  clerk 
told  me,  the  other  day,  that  last  year  there 
were  about  14,000. 

A  large  proportion  of  these  commitments 
are  vagrants  —  a  term  that  includes  drunk- 
ards and  harlots,  who  are  seized  and  com- 
mitted without  much  ceremony. 

Look  at  the  comparative  crime  of  the  city 
for  the  five  years  ending  in  1844,  taking  on- 
ly the  convictions  in  the  oyer  and  terminer, 
the  general,  and  the  special  sessions:  1840, 
1,099;  1841,1,355;  1842,1,385;  1843, 
1,675  ;  1844,  1447. 


STATISTICS  OF  VICE. 


163 


You  see  a  regular  increase  until  the  last, 
when  there  is  a  falling  off ;  but  in  this  time 
the  population  has  been  increasing  rapidly. 
The  comparison  is  therefore  gratifying  and 
encouraging,  for  we  have  no  reason  to  be- 
lieve  that  the  administration  of  justice  has 
been  less  efficient  the  last  year  than  before. 

"  Licentiousness."  —  Aldermen  Til- 
lou  and  Woodhull  presented  to  the  board 
of  aldermen,  in  1844,  a  report  in  relation  to 
the  police  of  the  city,  in  which  they  bring 
to  view  the  details  of  vice  that  ought  to  be 
known  to  the  public,  but  which,  being  buried 
in  "  jniblic  documents,"  are  never  read. 

When  it  was  proved  to  the  world,  by  fig- 
ures that  do  not  lie,  that  one  out  of  every 
seven  certainly,  and  perhaps  one  out  of  ev- 
ery five  persons  in  the  city,  receives  aid  at 
the  hand  of  charity  every  year,  the  fact  was 
denounced  as  a  libel  on  the  city,  and  I  was 
waited  on  by  several  gentlemen  with  a  re- 
quest to  re-examine  the  subject.  I  did,  and 
made  the  matter  worse.  I  shall,  therefore, 
not  say,  that  one  out  of  every  seven  females 


364 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


in  the  city  over  the  age  of  sixteen  and  under 
thirty-six  is  an  abandoned  woman  ;  for, 
should  I  say  so,  nobody  would  believe  it, 
and  I  should  be  read  out  of  society.  But 
T  will  give  you  the  facts  in  the  case,  and 
you  must  draw  the  inferences.  The  com- 
mittee of  the  board  of  aldermen  estimate, 
from  actual  examination  of  certain  parts  of 
the  city,  that  there  are  ten  thousand  of  these 
bad  women  residing  among  us.  The  ave- 
rage life  of  those  thus  given  up  to  vice  is 
not  more  than  ten  or  fifteen  years.  In  a 
population  of  350,000  persons,  there  are 
about  70,000  females  over  the  age  of  six- 
teen and  under  thirty-six,  and  within  these 
ages  may  be  reckoned  nearly  all  those  of 
wThom  we  are  speaking.  Now  take  the 
number  70,000,  divide  it  by  10,000,  and 
you  shall  find  the  proportion  of  the  vicious 
to  the  virtuous  to  be  one  in  seven!!!  It 
does  seem  to  me  that  the  aldermen  must 
be  mistaken.  But  I  am  serving  them  as 
others  serve  me,  when  I  thus  call  in  ques- 
tion the  results  of  their  examination,  and  I 


STATISTICS  OF  VICE. 


165 


will  let  it  stand  for  others  to  correct,  if  they 
can. 

This  vast  multitude  of  the  abandoned 
find  support,  not  in  the  population  of  our 
city  alone,  but  by  preying  on  the  passions 
of  the  tens  of  thousands  of  strangers  who 
are  always  with  us,  and  who  here  seek  those 
criminal  indulgences  which  they  can  not  find 
at  home.  Here,  too,  the  victims  of  vice  in 
the  country  flee  for  a  shelter  from  the  scorn 
of  the  world,  and  now  seek  to  live  upon  that 
which  has  been  their  ruin.  It  has  been 
shown  by  actual  inquiry,  that  these  sinks 
of  iniquity  are  supplied  by  importations 
from  the  country,  where  the  air  of  heaven 
is  pure,  but  where  sin  reigns  as  here. 

You  will  like  to  know  how  this  state  of 
things  compares  with  other  cities.  I  have 
statistics  of  some  places  in  Great  Britain,  and 
we  do  not  care  to  compare  ourselves  with 
continental  Europe.  Their  pre-eminency 
in  vice  is  not  to  be  called  in  question.  But 
look  at  England.  Supposing  that  there  are 
400  brothels  in  the  city  of  New  York,  our 


166 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


place  in  the  scale  will  be  learned  from  the 
following  table,  which  I  have  prepared,  ta- 
king the  population  of  New  York  from  the 
last  census  : — 

Population.  Brothels. 

New  York   313,000,   400, 

Liverpool   223,000,  .770, 

Manchester   380,000,   308, 

Birmingham   197,000,   797, 

London  1,900,000,  5,000. 

I  have  returns  from  other  cities,  but  these 
are  enough.  You  will  readily  perceive  that 
there  is  no  great  difference  between  us  and 
our  trans-Atlantic  sisters,  on  the  score  of 
morals.  Our  report  is  better  than  some, 
and  worse  than  others.  But  I  believe  we 
are  better  in  one  particular.  I  never  heard 
that  any  bishop  in  our  country,  or  clergy- 
man of  any  name,  derived  any  part  of  his 
living  from  the  rent  of  brothels.  But  it  is 
a  well-known  fact,  having  been  exposed  in 
the  house  of  lords,  that  the  rent  of  a  large 
number  of  brothels  flows  into  the  coffers  of 
one  of  the  bishops;  and  not  long  since  was 
&een  the  Rev.  J.  Holmes  figuring  at  the 


STATISTICS  OF  VICE. 


167 


Marylebone  police-office,  as  the  landlord  of 
a  furnished  brothel,  and  preferring  a  charge 
arrainst  his  tenant  for  baring  stolen  three 
looking-glasses !  These  are  not  solitary 
cases.  Not  long  since,  another  clergyman 
of  the  church  of  England  being  reproached 
with  the  ownership  of  six  of  these  houses, 
replied  :  "  Why  blame  me  ;  my  masters 
have  hundreds."  Whether  legal  restraints 
can  be  imposed,  so  as  materially  to  check 
the  evil,  seems  to  be  a  question  which  le- 
gislators usually  answer  in  the  negative.  But 
that  our  laws  are  radically  defective  on  the 
whole  subject  I  have  not  a  doubt,  and  I 
wish  that  the  minds  of  those  who  make  and 
administer  our  laws  might  be  put  right. 

It  is  said  that  if  severe  enactments  are 
made  against  the  sale  of  ardent  spirits  and 
also  against  violations  of  the  seventh  com- 
mandment, it  will  be  impossible  to  enforce 
them  ;  that  the  appetites  and  passions  of 
men  will  be  gratified,  in  spite  of  law,  and 
public  opinion  will  never  sustain  the  magis- 
trate in  ths  execution  of  a  law  that  inflicts  a 


169 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


heavy  penalty  upon  offences  which  are  com- 
mitted by  the  free  will  of  both  parties  con- 
cerned. Thus  the  man  who  buys  and  the 
man  who  sells  ardent  spirits,  consent  to  the 
transaction,  and  why  should  the  seller  be 
punished?  So  of  the  seducer.  But  this 
reasoning  goes  upon  two  false  positions:  1, 
that  these  are  the  only  parties ;  and,  2, 
that  the  consent  of  the  victim  absolves  from 
guilt.  Society  has  an  interest  in  this  mat- 
ter;  and  the  good  of  the  whole  number 
should  be  looked  at  in  law-making.  Nor 
is  it  true  that  a  member  of  society  has  a 
right  to  injure  himself  to  the  injury  of  his 
neighbors  :  as  he  does  when  he  becomes  a 
drunkard  and  a  seducer.  There  are  others 
who  suffer  besides  the  victim  of  the  rum- 
seller  and  the  seducer;  and  these  others  have 
rights  which  the  law  should  protect.  And 
if  a  house  is  kept  open  in  this  city  for  the 
sale  of  ardent  spirits  to  be  drunk  as  a  bev- 
erage, if  a  house  is  kept  open  in  which  the 
temptations  to  licentiousness  are  exposed 
for  sale,  why,  in  the  name  of  everlasting 


STATISTICS  OF  VICE. 


169 


ri<rht,  does  not  the  law  make  such  houses 

o  7 

nuisances,  to  be  exterminated  from  the  heart 
of  society.  It  licenses  the  one  class  and 
lets  the  other  alone  !  If  a  miserable  hole 
in  Orange  street,  becomes  so  offensive  that 

D  7 

the  peace  of  the  city  requires  its  purgation, 
the  old  hag  who  keeps  it  will  be  snaked  to 
the  police-office,  and  tried  for  "  keeping  a 
disorderly  house."  But  hundreds  of  houses 
close  by  the  houses  of  our  magistrates  spread 
their  allurements  before  the  eyes  of  our 
youth,  and  tempt  them  into  the  vortex  of 
hell,  and  the  shield  of  law  protects  the 
portal,  though  all  that  enter,  enter  to  be 
damned. 

It  is  said  that  if  these  vices  are  made 
penal,  they  will  still  be  practised.  So  there 
will  be  thieves  and  murderers,  in  spite  of 
law.  But  surely  no  sane  man  will  be  for 
having  no  laws  against  theft  and  murder. 
We  ought  to  have  laws  built,  as  God's  laws 
are,  on  the  right  and  the  wrong  of  things, 
with  penalties  proportioned  to  the  nature 
and  consequences  of  crime  ;  instead  of  laws 
15 


170 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


that  are  based  confessedly  on  the  prejudices 
and  ignorance  and  depravity  of  those  who 
hate  all  laws  because  they  interfere  with  their 
lusts. 

A  great  many  people  seem  to  think  that 
the  devil  has  the  majority  on  his  side,  and 
therefore  there  is  no  use  in  trying  to  vote 
him  and  his  down.  But  God's  side  is  the 
strongest,  and  even  in  this  country  where 
governing  is  done  by  voting,  if  the  friends 
of  God  and  virtue  were  half  as  wise  ir  their 
generation  as  the  devil's  people  in  theirs, 
the  right  would  prevail.  There  are  hun- 
dreds and  thousands  of  people  in  this  city 
who  expect  to  go  to  heaven,  who  never  give 
themselves  any  trouble  about  the  vices  of 
the  times,  leaving  laws  and  politics,  and 
consequently  the  morals  of  the  people,  to 
take  care  of  themselves  ;  when  they  hear 
of  a  horrid  crime  in  the  streets  or  in  a  den 
of  shame,  they  groan  heavily,  but  as  to 
moving  in  a  work  of  reform,  to  secure  bet- 
ter law-makers  and  better  laws,  or  even  to 
secure  the  triumph  of  a  moral  reformation,  so 


STATISTICS  OF  VICE. 


171 


as  to  make  public  sentiment  what  it  might  be, 
they  never  dream  of  such  a  thing,  not  they! 
The  friends  of  virtue  should  awake  to  the 
moral  dangers  that  lurk  and  riot  and  reign 
in  this  city  ;  they  should  strive  together  to 
reclaim  the  vicious,  to  restrain  the  erring, 
to  strengthen  the  weak,  to  dam  up  the  cur- 
rents of  evil,  exterminate  the  seeds  of  vice, 
expel  or  imprison  the  wretches  who  make 
their  bread  by  tempting  to  perdition  our 
sons  and  daughters,  and  gloat,  like  harpies, 
over  the  blasted  hopes  and  crushed  hearts  of 
their  victims.  There  are  thousands  of  houses 
in  this  city,  over  whose  door  might  be  writ- 
ten, as  it  is  written  over  one  of  the  doors  of 
the  theatres  —  "to  the  pit."  Edmund 
Burke  said,  in  reference  to  the  vices  of 
London,  that  were  it  not  for  the  lofty  spires 
of  their  churches,  which  serve  to  conduct 
away  the  lightning  of  heaven,  God's  fire 
would  long  ago  have  consumed  the  city ; 
and  who  that  knows  the  abominations  of 
ours,  but  trembles  when  he  thinks  that  the 
Holy  One  is  Almighty! 


172 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  NOCTURNAL  SUBTERRANEAN  EXCURSION. 

All  of  the  city  is  not  above  ground. 
There  are  multitudes  who  live  and  move 
and  have  their  being  in  depths  that  sunlight 
seldom  permeates,  and  where  the  footstep 
of  virtue  as  seldom  breaks  upon  the  cease- 
less career  ofdark  and  loathsome  sin.  When 
Dickens  visited  this  country  he  made  an  ex- 
ploring tour  through  one  of  these  haunts  of 
infamy  and  vice;  and  in  the  strong  colours 
with  which  he  paints,  he  has  given  us  a 
horrid  picture  of  what  he  saw.  But  he  is 
altogether  better  at  fancy  than  fact,  and 
when  we  read  his  descriptions  of  things  real, 
we  are  all  the  while  inclined  to  believe  that 
he  is  romancing;  and  his  truthful  portraits 
are  passed  by  as  amusing  caricatures.  Yet 
ever  since  we  read  his  narrative  of  an  "un- 


A  NOCTURNAL  SUBTERRANEAN  EXCURSION.  173 


derground  ball,"  in  a  place  that  now  bears 
his  name,  an  appropriate  memorial  of  his 
sojourn  among  us,  being  called  "Dickens' 
Hole,"  there  has  been  much  curiosity  awa- 
kened to  know  how  much  truth  there  was 
in  his  story,  though  there  was  nothing  very 
inviting  in  the  prospect  of  following  in  his 
footsteps  through  the  lowest  and  darkest 
dens  of  pollution  on  the  continent  of  x^meri- 
ca  !  Of  course  you  would  never  expect 
me  to  make  a  personal  investigation  of  such 
localities,  but  a  few  nights  ago  a  friend  of 
mine,  accompanied  by  a  friend  of  his,  and 
under  the  escort  of  a  well-known  police- 
officer,  a  terror  to  the  sons  and  daughters 
of  crime,  and  a  frequent  visiter  in  their  do- 
mains, made  the  tour  of  the  regions  to  which 
I  have  referred,  and  I  propose  to  give  you, 
very  briefly,  an  account  of  some  things  they 
saw.  One  of  the  parties  related  to  me  the 
incidents  of  the  night  which  I  will  transfer 
to  this  canvass  in  my  own  way. 

It  was  midnight.    We  had  made  an  ap- 
pointment with  an  officer  of  the  city  police, 
15* 


174 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


one  of  the  oldest  and  truest  of  that  depart- 
ment, to  meet  us  at  the   house,  and 

we  were  all  ready.  The  neighbourhood 
we  proposed  to  visit,  was  unsafe  for  any 
man  to  enter  in  the  night  unless  well  pro- 
tected, and  we  had  therefore  taken  such 
precautions  as  the  first  law  of  nature  dic- 
tates in  such  cases.    Turning  down  L  

to  O  street,  we  came  to  a  large  white- 
washed door,  at  which  the  officer  tapped, 
as  if  giving  a  signal  to  be  understood  with- 
in. The  door  was  cautiously  opened,  and 
we  stood  enveloped  in  darkness,  but  the 
sound  of  distant  music  broke  upon  our 
ears.  We  groped  our  way  to  a  flight  of 
stairs  down  which  we  marched,  the  officer 
being  at  the  head  ;  till  we  came  to  another 
door  guarded  by  a  porter,  who  proved  to 
be  the  presiding  genius  of  the  establish- 
ment. He  knew  the  officer  at  a  glance, 
and  was  as  complaisant  as  if  a  new  customer 
had  come;  and  on  being  informed  that  we 
were  on  a  pleasure  excursion  through  his 
dominions,  he  threw  open  his  infernal  ball- 


A  NOCTURNAL  SUBTERRANEAN  EXCURSION.  175 

room  door,  and  there,  as  sure  as  life,  was  a 
sight  such  as  the  disordered  brain  of  a  mad- 
man might  conjure,  but  which  we  had  never 
.  (  nuired  to  believe  was  one  of  many  nightly 
similar  scenes  in  this  Christian  city.  A 
motley  multitude  of  men  and  women,  yel- 
low and  white,  black  and  dingy,  old  and 

young,   ugly  and  no  not  handsome; 

God  forbid  that  beauty  should  ever  bloom 
;n  such  a  hotbed  as  this — but  there  they 
were,  a  set  of  male  and  female  Bacchanals 
dancing  to  the  tambourine  and  fiddle  ;  gig- 
gling and  laughing  in  a  style  peculiar  to  the 
remote  descendants  of  Ham,  and  making 
"  night  hideous"  with  their  lascivious  orgies. 
Talk  of  the  degradation  of  the  heathen  ;  of 
savage  pow-wows,  and  pagan  carnivals;  and 
stir  up  sympathy  for  the  slaves  of  sin  in  the 
depths  of  Africa  or  Asia.  Here  we  were 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  city-hall,  in  the 
centre  of  the  first  city  in  the  most  Chris- 
tian country  on  the  earth,  and  here  was  a 
sight  to  make  the  heart  sicken  and  bleed. 
On  one  side  of  the  room  was  a  bar,  tended 


176 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


by  a  rascally-looking  wretch  who  dealt  out 
the  liquors  to  the  frequent  calls  of  his  cus- 
tomers, and  as  the  drinking-  and  fiddling 
went  on,  the  fury  of  the  company  waxed 
fiercer,  until  the  scene  was  as  unreal  and 
bewildering  as  if  we  had  been  suddenly 
ushered  into  the  revelling  halls  of  the  prince 
of  darkness. 

Wandering  through  this  horrid  group 
was  a  young  man  whom  we  recognised  as 
of  a  respectable  family,  but  his  bloated  face 
and  bloody  eyes,  and  the  loose  familiarity 
with  which  he  addressed  the  company, 
showed  that  he  was  at  home  among  them, 
and  was  already  near  the  nadir  point  of  his 
downward  career.  We  thought  of  the  moth- 
er that  gave  him  birth,  and  whose  hears 
would  be  wrung  with  agony  at  the  ruin  of 
her  son,  were  she  not  one  of  the  many 
mothers  in  the  ranks  of  fashion  and  pride, 
perhaps  this  moment  flaunting  at  a  more 
splendid  ball,  yielding  to  the  voluptuous 
blandishments  of  elegant  vice,  and  listening 
to  the  flattering  tongue  that  will  lure  ber  to 


A  NOCTURNAL  SUBTERRANEAN  EXCURSION.  177 


meet  her  lost  boy  at  the  door  of  a  lower 
hell. 

"  That  gaudy  girl,"  said  the  officer, 
"  decked  with  so  much  finery,  makes  it 
her  profession  to  decoy  men  into  houses 
kept  for  the  purpose,  and  there  she  robs 
them.  Many  men  from  the  country,  prompt- 
ed by  curiosity,  follow  such  persons  as  you 
see  her  to  be,  and  before  they  are  aware  of 
their  danger,  they  are  in  a  snare  from  which 
escape  is  impossible.  Resistance  is  use- 
less, and  to  complain  to  the  police  is  at- 
tended with  an  exposure  worse  than  the  loss 
of  money.  In  fact,  the  robbery  of  their 
victims  is  the  chief  pursuit  of  the  class  of 
women  of  whom  that  girl  is  one  of  the 
queens." 

But  we  were  glad  to  emerge  from  this 
den,  and  breathe  again  the  pure  air  of  heav- 
en. A  bright  full  moon  poured  oo  us  a 
flood  of  light  as  we  gained  the  upper  regions, 
and  what  a  contrast  to  the  murky  atmosphere 
from  which  we  had  just  escaped  !  It  was 
a  beautiful  night  i    The  mild  moon  sailed 


178 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITT. 


in  glory  over  us,  and  the  stars  "  whose  pit- 
rity  and  distance  make  them  fair," 
danced  like  celestial  virgins  "  in  the  blue 
ethereal  sky,"  and  we  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve that,  under  such  a  canopy,  there  could 
be  such  scenes  as  we  had  just  left.  Alas 
for  sinners  I  They  do  love  darkness  rather 
than  light,  because  their  deeds  are  evil. 
And  this  is  their  condemnation — they  love 
it,  and  have  it,  now  and  eternally. 

As  we  stood  on  the  pavement,  arrested 
by  the  loveliness  of  the  upper  world,  a  night 
officer  passed  us,  dragging  a  woman  to  the 
watch-house;  another  woman  followed,  de- 
claring she  would  go  with  her,  and  a  man 
was  holding  the  second  to  pull  her  back. 
Here  was  a  scene.  Sudden  and  fearful,  but 
it  had  its  moral.  There  was  devotion  in  the 
woman  who  would  follow  her  friend  to  the 
prison  ;  and  she  did  follow  her,  in  spite  of 
the  force  and  entreaties  of  her  husband.  In 
this  extremity  of  vice  there  was  such  friend- 
ship as  we  rarely  meet,  and  we  thought  it 
proved  that  all  was  not  lost  in  the  miserable 


A  NOCTURNAL  SUBTERRANEAN  EXCURSION.  179 


woman  ;  perhaps  there  was  a  chord  in  her 
heart  that  might  yet  be  touched,  and  by 
which  she  might  be  led  back  to  virtue.  O  ! 
for  more  of  the  spirit  of  the  friend  of  pub- 
licans and  sinners  !  O  !  for  men  with  the 
love  for  the  lost  that  burned  in  the  bosom 
of  Jesus,  to  go  down  into  these  realms  of 
undisturbed  depravity,  and  with  the  gentle 
power  of  the  gospel  undertake  the  recovery 
of  some,  at  least,  of  these  for  whose  souls  no 
man  cares. 

Our  guide  next  led  us  through  a  dark 
defile,  into  a  back  yard,  and  up  a  rickety 
stairway  into  a  shed,  the  door  of  which  was 
not  opened,  until  athunderingblow  informed 
the  inmates  that  it  would  be  off  the  hinges 
in  a  moment.  The  floor  was  covered  with 
forms  that  were  meant  for  the  human  race, 
but  sadly  changed  from  the  forms  that  God 
had  given  them.  The  fragrance  was  pecu- 
liar and  excessive,  and  we  made  our  obser- 
vations few  and  short,  hastening  to  another 
and  another  apartment  of  the  same  building, 
the  floors  of  the  various  rooms  being  as 


180 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


thickly  covered  with  bodies  as  a  field  of 
battle  could  be  with  the  slain  ;  and  close 
by  was  another  house  in  which  from  five  to 
six  hundred  persons  sleep  every  night,  ly- 
ing on  the  floor,  with  a  bit  of  old  carpet  or 
nothing  at  all  over  them,  but  the  rags  they 
carry  through  the  day.  These  houses  ac- 
commodate lodgers  for  six  cents  and  some 
for  three  cents,  in  advance,  a  night ;  their 
customers  being  beggars  and  thieves,  who 
manage  to  pick  up  enough  in  the  course  of 
the  day  and  the  first  part  of  the  night  to 
pay  for  shelter  for  the  rest. 

We  stopped  at  the  window  of  a  rumshop 
and  looked  in  at  a  gang  of  gallowsbirds,  who 
were  carousing.  The  officer  knew  them, 
and  mentioned  their  names,  as  they  had  all 
been  in  his  clutches  before,  and  doubtless 
would  be  again.  One  was  a  noted  villain 
of  the  Chichester  gang,  and  several  of  them 
illustrious  in  the  calendar  of  the  Tombs,  as 
burglars  and  rioters.  It  is  unsafe  for  any 
man  to  go  through  this  part  of  the  city  in 
the  night ;  for,  in  spite  of  the  diligence  of 


A  NOCTURNAL  SUBTERRANEAN  EXCURSION.  181 

watchmen,  it  sometimes  happens  that  men 
are  knocked  down  and  robbed  in  the  streets. 
We  were  well  protected.  Our  guide  was 
well  known,  and  it  was  amusing  to  observe 
the  deference  with  which  he  was  treated  ; 
the  black  wretches  asking  after  his  health, 
and  that  of  his  family,  as  if  he  were  a  par- 
ticular friend,  and  not  a  man  whom  they 
would  be  glad  to  put  out  of  the  way,  so  ef- 
fectually as  not  to  be  troubled  with  his  soci- 
ety again. 

But  these  details  are  growing  tedious,  and 
I  will  bring  them  to  a  close.  Perhaps  I 
have  made  a  mistake  in  dwelling  on  these 
features  of  life  in  the  city.  But  these  are 
sketches  drawn  from  the  life,  and  the  half 
has  not  been  told.  My  motive  is  a  good 
one.  I  wish  to  impress  those  who  read, 
with  the  power  of  the  truth,  that  there  is  be- 
neath this  city  a  mass  of  moral  putrefaction, 
sufficient  to  bring  out  the  worst  plagues  in 
the  store  of  an  offended  God.  There  are 
depths  of  depravity  into  which  quicklime 
16 


182 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


should  be  thrown  as  a  disinfecting  agency, 
if  there  can  not  be  poured  in  any  streams 
to  purify  and  heal.  This  picture  ought  to 
compel  support,  and  greatly  augmented  sup- 
port, for  city  missions,  and  every  othei 
instrumentality  that  will  carry  the  gospel  to 
those  who  will  never  come  after  it.  We 
must  not  leave  these  dens  of  unclean  beasts 
without  an  effort  to  save  some  of  their  mis- 
erable inmates.  Let  us  do  all  we  can  to 
save  others  from  getting  into  them.  Preach 
the  gospel  in  the  pulpit,  and  in  the  high- 
ways, and  block  up  the  road  to  perdition, 
if  you  can  ;  but  if  there  is  an  arm  of 
mercy  to  reach  these  guilty  wretches,  whirl- 
ing in  the  very  throat  of  the  maelstrom, 
oh,  for  Christ's  sake,  let  it  be  stretched  to 
save. 

Ministers  of  God!  preach  Christ  in  your 
country  churches,  and  mingle  your  songs 
of  praise  with  the  winds  that  sigh  among  the 
tree-tops  of  your  temples  not  made  with 
hands.   God  bless  you  in  your  joyful  work, 


A  NOCTURNAL  SUBTERRANEAN  EXCURSION.  183 

as  those  ready  to  perish  will.  But  think  of 
the  sinners  of  this  city,  murdering  their 
souls  under  the  shadow  of  sanctuaries,  and 
diving  headlong  into  hell  from  the  gates  of 
heaven. 


184 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITT. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MILK  IN  THE  METROPOLIS. 

Some  weeks  ago,  a  friend  invited  me  to 
make  an  excursion  into  the  upper  part  of 
the  city  to  see  a  milk-factory.  I  had  read 
Hartley's  articles  about  city  milk,  and  had 
heard  of  chalk  and  water  and  other  nos- 
trums, not  forgetting  the  receipt  for  which 
a  patent  ought  to  be  taken  out : — 

To  make  milk. 

Take  aq.  font   87  parts. 

"     lac.  bov   10  " 

"     cal.  mag   3  " 

Total  100  " 

This  mixture  makes  a  very  fair  article,  at 
least  it  has  no  injurious  ingredients,  if  the 
articles  are  obtained  pure ;  and  since  the 


MILK  IN  THE  METROPOLIS.  185 


Croton  aqueduct  is  completed,  the  chief  in- 
gredient is  easily  procured.  But  my  friend 
assured  me,  that  he  could  introduce  me 
more  deeply  into  the  mysteries  of  the  trade, 
and  with  this  view  I  accompanied  him.  He 
took  me  by  stage  to  a  "  still,"  or  more  ele- 
gantly, to  a  "  distillery,"  in  the  midst  of  a 
densely-built  and  populated  part  of  the  city, 
where  whiskey  is  manufactured  in  horrid 
quantities,  yet  it  wTould  seem  as  if  this  were 
but  a  secondary  branch  of  the  business  here 
carried  on.  Two  thousand  cows  are 
confined  in  stalls,  which  are  arranged  in 
parallel  rows,  and  in  front  of  each  row  of 
cows  is  a  trough,  into  which  the  refuse  grain 
from  the  distillery,  called  the  "  still-slops," 
a  villanous  fluid,  flows  directly  from  the 
still.  It  pours  in  a  torrent  from  the  princi- 
pal reservoir,  runs  into  one  trough  till  it  is 
full,  then  on  into  another,  and  another,  till 
all  are  filled  ;  and  this  is  the  aliment  on 
which  these  animals  feed,  to  generate  the 
milk  that  feeds  the  babes  and  the  babesr 
mothers  in  this  good  city.    These  cows  are 


186 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY 


not  taken  out  to  be  milked,  out  there,  in 
those  horridly  filthy  stalls,  from  which  a 
stench  went  forth  compared  with  which  the 
valley  of  Tophet  must  have  been  a  garden 
of  aroma,  there,  day  and  night,  they  stand 
and  drink  this  poison  for  their  sustenance  ; 
and  into  this  noisome  place  the  milk-cans 
are  carried,  and,  as  the  cows  are  milked, 
the  milk  is  poured  in,  and  the  cans  are  car- 
ried to  the  door,  and  placed  in  the  carts 
that  stand  ready,  and  away  they  are  driven 
directly  to  the  door  of  the  customers ! 

But  the  beauty  of  the  system  is  yet  to  be 
told.  These  poison-milk  traffickers  know 
very  well  that,  if  the  customers  suspected 
that  the  milk  was  distilled  in  such  filthiness, 
they  would  refuse  to  buy  it.  And  what  lit- 
tle trick,  my  unsuspecting  friend,  do  you 
suppose  they  resort  to,  to  lull  all  suspicion 
on  this  point  ?  I'll  tell  you,  and  you  will 
never  doubt  the  superior  cunning  of  our  city- 
dealers  over  your  country  dulness  :  they 
inscribe  on  their  carts  some  rural  title  to 
their  establishment,  as  "  The  Green  Briar 


MILK  IN  THE  METROPOLIS. 


187 


Dairy,"  "  Myrtle  Cottage  Milk,"  or  some- 
thing of  this  sort,  and  as  a  good  lady  sits  at 
her  window,  and  sees  this  inscription  on  a 
neat  wagon,  with  milk  cans  in  it,  flying  by, 
she  bids  Biddy  telegraph  it  when  it  passes 
to-morrow,  and  tell  the  honest  farmer  to  call 
there  every  day  ! 

You  must  know  that  we  have  no  great 
knowledge  here  in  the  city  of  the  properties 
of  milk,  and  therefore  we  are  not  able  to 
detect  impositions  of  this  sort  by  inspection 
of  the  article  itself.  Sometime  ago  a  milk- 
man, who  drove  in  daily  from  a  few  miles 
out  of  the  city,  was  seized  with  sudden 
qualms  of  conscience  as  to  the  honesty  of 
levying  contributions  upon  the  pump  for  the 
purpose  of  increasing  the  quantity  of  his 
supply,  and  he  therefore  resolved,  strange, 
incredible  as  it  may  appear,  he  resolved  to 
carry  pure  milk  to  market  for  once  in  his 
life.  Strong  in  the  faith  of  this  good  re- 
solve, he  increased  the  number  of  his  cows, 
and  thus  produced  an  adequate  supply  for 
his  customers.    He  had  not  continued  the 


188 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITT. 


distribution  of  this  rare  and  excellent  article 
more  than  a  few  days,  before  one  of  his  best 

customers,  a  lady  in  street,  discharged 

him.  When  the  servant  communicated  to 
him  her  ladyship's  order,  he  begged  to  be 
told  the  reason,  and  the  lady,  on  being  sum- 
moned, very  frankly  informed  him,  they  had 
observed  for  a  few  days  past  that,  when  his 
milk  had  stood  a  while,  "  a  dirty  yellow 
scum  gathered  all  over  the  top  of  it,  and 
they  wouldn't  have  such  stuff  in  the 
house!  !  !"  Here  was  a  pretty  disclosure. 
This  city  housekeeper  had  never  seen  such 
an  article  as  cream  in  her  life,  and  she  fan- 
cied it  to  be  a  filthy  excrement,  revealing 
some  pernicious  ingredient  added  by  the 
milkman.  The  dealer  was  nonplused. 
Should  he  resort  to  the  pump,  or  lose  his 
customers  ?  I  never  heard  the  result  of 
his  deliberations  on  this  point.  But  let  us 
return  to  that  milk-factory  up  town. 

The  cows  are  not  owned  by  the  distillers. 
They  are  boarders  only.  A  man  manages 
to  get  a  little  money,  sufficient  to  buy  a  few 


MILK  IN  THE  METROPOLIS. 


189 


cows,  and  takes  them  to  this  still,  where 
they  are  stalled  and  fed  for  something  like 
two  dollars  a  month :  the  rent  of  these  stalls 
and  the  sale  of  the  feed  thus  bringing  in  a 
most  enormous  sum  to  the  distillery  over 
and  above  the  profit  of  the  other  business, 
the  awful  wickedness  of  which  I  will  not 
here  undertake  to  portray. 

The  injurious  effects  of  this  milk  has 
been  most  abundantly  shown  in  years  past, 
and  I  supposed  that  our  citizens  had  given 
up  the  use  of  it  altogether.  But  since  my 
visit  to  this  establishment,  I  have  learned 
that  there  are  in  the  city  and  all  around  it, 
in  Williamsburgh,  Brooklyn,  and  other 
places,  similar  establishments,  in  full  blast, 
so  that  there  is  probably  more  of  this  poi- 
sonous fluid  sold  for  milk  in  the  city  of  New 
York  this  moment,  than  there  ever  was  be- 
fore. And  this  too,  notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  any  family  here,  that  wants  it,  may 
have  milk  for  tea  to-night  that  was  taken 
from  the  cows  in  the  heart  of  Orange  county, 
less  than  sixteen  hours  before.    Yet  there 


190 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


is  no  accounting  for  tastes.  And  the  fact 
is,  if  men,  heads  of  families,  had  it  certified 
to  them  on  the  best  authority  that  still-slop 
milk  is  a  slow  but  certain  poison,  they  would 
not  care  enough  about  it,  to  make  an  effort 
to  secure  better,  and  so  they  continue  to 
feed  their  children  on  that  which  is  known 
to  be  decidedly  and  inevitably  injurious. 


FASHIONABLE  CLUB-HOUSES.  191 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

FASHIONABLE  CLUB-HOUSES. 

You  have  often  read  of  the  club-houses 
of  London,  sustained  by  associations  of  the 
most  rigid  exclusiveness,  into  which  no 
man  can  gain  admission  without  the  highest 
qualifications.  What  these  qualifications 
are  it  would  be  curious  to  know.  One  of 
the  first  is  plenty  of  money  ;  the  next  is  a 
fondness  for  spending  it  ;  and  then  follows 
a  fondness  for  those  ways  and  means  of 
spending  it  which  are  known  to  free-livers, 
and  of  which  such  old-fashioned  people  as 
you  and  I  know  very  little.  We  should  be 
as  much  out  of  our  element  in  one  of  these 
clubs  as  a  fish  out  of  water,  and  if  we  should 
attempt  to  speak  of  the  manner  in  which 
the  members  exhaust  their  time  and  their 


192 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


purses,  we  might  only  discover  our  own 
verdancy. 

But  I  had  never  seen  one  of  these  club- 
houses, at  least  a  genuine  pattern,  here  in 
New  York,  until  last  winter.  Frequently 
in  passing  the  splendid  front  of  a  growing 
edifice,  I  had  wondered  for  what  purpose 
it  could  be  intended,  and  made  repeated  in- 
quiries with  no  satisfactory  result.  The  fact 
that  a  vast  pile  was  going  up  in  the  heart  of 
the  city,  of  which  the  object  was  not  gen- 
erally known,  only  served  to  excite  my  cu- 
riosity, till  I  was  tempted  to  drop  in  under 
a  sign  of  "  No  Admittance."  I  soon  learned 
that  this  splendid  building  is  put  up  at  the 
expense  of  a  club  who  pay  a  handsome 
initiation  fee,  and  the  capital  thus  formed 
is  invested  in  the  edifice  and  furniture. 
The  front  presents  nothing  to  the  eye  to 
distinguish  it  from  a  private  edifice  of  beau- 
tiful proportions  and  elaborate  finish,  but 
the  interior  arrangements  and  a  lateral  view 
will  discover  that  it  is  designed  for  the  most 
extensive  accommodations  of  the  multitu- 


FASHIONABLE  CLUB-HOUSES.  193 


dinousbody  that  have  erected  the  house.  It 
reaches  through  from  street  to  street,  and 
two  thirds  of  the  building  seems  to  be  de- 
voted to  alleys  and  chambers  for  wicket, 
nine-pins,  and  such  games  of  ball,  &c,  as 
require  at  once  great  space  and  protection. 

Penetrating  these  apartments  still  further, 
you  are  admitted  into  private  chambers 
where  the  lovers  of  play  may  amuse  them- 
selves in  more  secluded  circles,  and  pursue 
such  methods  of  destroying  time  and  making 
or  losing  money  as  to  them  may  be  more 
agreeable  than  mingling  in  the  athletic  sports 
and  less-refined  contests  of  the  alley  or  the 
billiard-room.  The  penetralia  will  not  be 
discovered  until  you  make  a  subterranean 
excursion,  and  explore  the  winding  recesses 
of  the  labyrinth  of  rooms  upon  which  you 
have  entered.  Without  a  thread  or  a  guide 
it  would  be  difficult  to  find  your  wTay  out, 
and  the  safest  way  to  escape  from  such  places 
is  to  keep  away  from  them  altogether. 

This  establishments  splendidly  furnish- 
ed, no  elegance  of  embellishment,  no  luxury 
17 


194 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


of  furniture,  no  attraction  of  comfort  or  dis- 
play, being  spared  to  render  it  the  ad  miration 
of  the  voluptuous  and  the  envy  of  all  those 
who  have  not  the  means  to  make  a  success- 
ful push  for  admission  into  the  club. 

The  idea  seems  to  have  got  abroad  that 
this  new  club-house  is  designed  specially 
for  those  who  can  not  comfortably  slay  at 
home.  It  embraces  a  large  number  of  high- 
ly respectable  men,  from  some  of  the  first 
families  of  the  city,  and  so  many  of  them 
are  married  men  that  it  is  called  in  the 
street,  the  "  asylum  for  distressed 

HUSBANDS." 

Now  I  think  it  is  wrong  to  give  the  club 
such  a  name  as  this.  It  intimates  that  the 
married  gentlemen  who  belong  to  it  are  so 
situated  in  their  domestic  relations  that  they 
are  under  the  disagreeable  necessity  of  fly- 
ing to  a  clubthouse  for  a  little  comfort.  If 
this  imputation  is  false,  it  is  very  unkind  to 
circulate  the  slander;  and  if  it  is  true,  it  is 
bad  enough  to  suffer  at  home,  without  being 
twitted  of  it  abroad.    I  am  therefore,  from 


FASHIONABLE  CLUB-HOUSES.  195 


principle,  opposed  to  the  application  of  this 
sympathetic  title  to  the  house,  and  I  trust 
that  all  well-disposed  persons  will  avoid  it 
in  future.  The  object  of  "  most  of  the 
club"  is  "  to  provide  a  place  where  they 
and  their  friends  can  have  the  benefit  of 
taking  athletic  exercise,  and  enjoying  ju- 
dicious recreation  and  relaxation  of  both 
body  and  mind,  without  being  compelled  to 
mix  with  uncongenial  associates." 

Such  being  the  avowed  object,  it  would 
be  supposed  that  an  establishment  for  "ta- 
king exercise"  could  be  conducted  under 
such  regulations  as  should  exclude  gam- 
bling. But  not  so  with  this  club.  The 
principle  on  which  this  is  founded  is  to  put 
"restrictions  upon  gambling,"  and  by  one 
of  the  by-laws  of  the  club  "no  bet  shall  be 
made  upon  any  game,  in  any  part  of  the 
establishment,  exceeding  five  dollars.  The 
stake  at  short  whist  to  be  not  more  than  half 
this  amount." — "  Any  member  discovered 
to  have  infringed  this  by-law,  shall  forfeit 
his  right  of  membership  without  appeal." 


196 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


It  is  very  easy  to  see  that  this  is  no  better, 
if  not  worse,  than  no  rule  at  all.  To  say 
nothing  of  the  case  with  which  it  may  be 
evaded  by  a  party  who  choose  to  play  with- 
out the  actual  stakes  being  known  to  any 
but  themselves,  if  it  were  faithfully  adhered 
to  by  the  members  it  merely  reduces  this 
house  into  a  primary  school,  where  youth 
may  acquire  both  taste  and  skill  in  gambling, 
which  taste  and  skill  may  be  gratified  and 
exercised  in  other  places  with  which  this 
city  abounds.  There  is  not  a  passion  with 
which  the  human  heart  is  fired,  that  is  more 
resistless  and  destroying  than  this  of  gam- 
bling. I  have  no  sermon  to  preach  about  it : 
but  I  confess  a  feeling  of  distress,  amounting 
almost  to  anguish  at  the  thought  that  here 
is  a  splendid  court  with  every  conceivable 
source  of  seductive  allurement  for  young 
men,  who  are  assured  before  they  enter  that 
by  the  laws  of  the  establishment  they  can 
not  play  for  more  than  Jive  dollars  upon  any 
one  game !  Perhaps  if  they  knew  that  they 
might  lose  more,  even  all  they  have,  they 


FASHIONABLE  CLUB-HOUSES.  197 


might  be  deterred  from  venturing:  but  the 
insurance  is,  "  You  can't  lose  but  five  dollars, 
come  in,"  and  then  the  habit  is  formed,  the 
passion  is  roused,  and  the  result  has  been 
written  in  lines  of  agony  and  read  with  tears 
of  blood.  A  more  fearful  chapter  than  the 
records  of  the  gaming-table,  the  history  of 
sinful  man  does  not  furnish. 

But  I  am  running  away  from  my  subject. 
If  you  want  other  illustrations  let  the  celib- 
acy of  the  Romish  priesthood  and  the  Mo- 
nastic system,  spread  their  "  interior  life" 
to  your  view,  and  if  all  history  is  not  a  long 
lie,  and  all  reasoning  from  facts  fallacious, 
then  of  a  truth  is  the  divine  plan  for  every 
man  to  have  his  own  wife,  as  important  as 
it  is  pleasant.  Worse  than  the  club-house 
system  of  living,  as  more  corrupt  and  cor- 
rupting, is  the  socialistic  plan,  which  the 
modern  Fourierites  of  our  city  are  seeking 
to  render  popular.  It  is  a  pestilent  and  li- 
centious system,  undermining  the  whole 
structure  of  society,  and  offering  as  an  anti- 
dote to  some  acknowledged  evils  a  scheme 


198 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


that  begets  a  legion  of  devils  for  every  one 
it  pretends  to  eject.  It  is  amazing  to  me 
that  some  of  onr  pious  people,  even  Chris- 
tian ministers,  will  permit  the  doctrines  of 
this  school  to  be  insidiously  but  constantly 
introduced  into  their  houses  in  their  secular 
newspapers.  A  society  was  got  up  here  in 
New  York  a  few  months  ago,  to  make  war 
upon  tlie  "  light  reading"  or  the  "  licentious 
literature"  of  the  day,  and  they  will  drive 
fiercely,  and  I  hope  successfully,  against 
Eugene  Sue  and  Bulwer,  and  such  panders 
to  lust  as  these  authors  of  fiction  are,  while 
the  hydra-headed  monster  of  socialism  is 
left  to  work  silently  and  fatally,  sucking  the 
heart-blood  from  the  sons  and  daughters  of 
Christians  in  the  city  and  the  land  over. 

Leaving  the  new  club-house  to  which  I 
have  called  your  attention,  I  could  pointout 
to  you  other  establishments,  on  a  smaller 
scale  which  have  long  been  in  operation  in 
our  city,  for  the  same  general  purpose.  It 
has  been  supposed  that  the  cities  of  Europe 
had  a  bad  pre-eminence  over  ours  in  the 


FASHIONABLE  CLUB-HOUSES.  199 


facilities  they  furnish  for  elegant  vice.  But 
I  have  my  doubts  whether  there  is  one  spe- 
cies of  iniquity  which  wicked  men  lust  after, 
which  may  not  be  as  readily  found  in  New 
York  as  in  London.  The  only  good  that 
can  result  from  such  remarks  as  these,  must 
lie  in  their  power  to  stir  the  hearts  of  the 
friends  of  virtue  to  more  thorough  and  un- 
tiring efforts  to  dry  up  the  fountains  of  vice, 
and  save  the  young  from  the  paths  that  lead 
to  death.  The  gates  of  hell  in  New  York 
are  gilded  :  flowers  are  in  the  path  and  mu- 
sic with  its  voluptuous  swell,  floats  on  the 
ears  of  the  throng  that  dance  down  the 
broad  road. 

The  club,  I  understand,  is  composed 
chiefly  of  foreigners,  though  I  doubt  not 
that  many  of  our  own  youth  to  whom  wealth 
has  been  left  by  their  hard-working  parents, 
and  who  have  no  habits  of  honest  industry 
themselves,  will  be  found  enrolled  among 
its  members.  Probably  the  same  rules  of 
admission  here  prevail  that  govern  the  Lon- 
don and  Paris  clubs,  and  each  new  candi- 


200 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITT. 


date  is  voted  for  or  against  by  those  already 
initiated  ;  white  and  black  balls  being  used 
for  ballots,  and  if  one  black  ball  is  deposited 
when  a  candidate  for  membership  is  pro- 
posed, he  is  not  admitted.  This  makes  it 
extremely  difficult  to  gain  a  standing  in  these 
recherche  communities,  the  obstacles  being 
in  direct  proportion  to  the  undesirableness 
of  the  connexion. 

Here  young  men  of  "fashion,"  or  men 
at  large  may  find  their  "  board  and  lodging" 
at  an  enormous  price  it  is  true,  but  in  that 
free  and  easy  way  that  is  so  vastly  agreeable 
to  men  who  have  no  wish  to  be  hampered 
in  their  business  or  pleasures  with  families 
or  regular  hours,  and  so  long  as  the  means 
hold  out,  the  highest  style  of  independent 
living  is  to  be  had  in  such  an  establishment. 
I  have  said  nothing  to  charge  this  or  similar 
concerns  with  profligate  vice  ;  but  how 
such  vice  is  to  be  separated  from  such  an 
institution,  it  is  impossible  to  understand. 
The  restraints  of  home,  of  society,  of  the 
private  circle ;  restraints  that  are  silken 


FASHIONABLE  CLUB-HOUSES. 


201 


cords  around  the  heart,  are  galling  to  the 
necks  of  those  who  join  a  club,  and  find 
their  pleasure  in  companionship  around  the 
gaming-table  or  in  the  alley.  The  charm 
that  woman  sheds  in  the  circle  of  the  intel- 
ligent and  pure,  a  charm  in  which  we  love 
to  confess  that  we  have  long  been  bound, 
has  no  power  on  the  hearts  of  those  who 
must  fly  to  the  club-house,  in  the  sports  of 
their  own  sex  to  seek  the  only  amusement 
for  which  they  have  any  taste.  And  I  need 
not  say  that  to  such  men,  woman  is  no  more 
than  she  is  to  a  pagan  or  a  Turk.  Instead 
of  being  his  sister  to  be  blessed  with  his 
affection,  or  his  wife  to  bless  him  with  her 
love,  instead  of  being  the  angel  of  his  life 
to  minister  to  his  moral,  intellectual,  and  so- 
cial desires,  that  should  expand  themselves 
in  that  which  is  noble  and  pure,  woman  is 
to  him  but  the  slave  of  his  passions  and  the 
victim  of  his  lusts. 

I  make  no  such  charge  as  this  (far  from 
it)  against  all  men  who  have  not  "  these 
bonds"  of  wedded  life.    But  I  number  not 


202  LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 

on  my  list  of  friends  the  man  who  shuts 
himself  out  of  the  society  of  virtuous 
women,  and  either  as  a  hermit  or  a  "  man 
of  the  town"  can  find  his  pleasure  in  a 
world  that  has  no  woman  for  its  sun  or  star. 
I  am  even  afraid  of  literary  men  who  yield 
to  the  seductions  of  books  so  far  as  to  re- 
fuse companionship  with  the  other  sex,  and 
in  the  retirement  of  their  closets  spend  their 
days  if  not  their  nights.  Since  the  days  of 
Father  Adam  down  to  the  present  it  never 
was  good  for  man  to  be  alone.  And  that 
solitude  in  Adam's  case  must  be  broken 
too,  not  by  putting  another  man  into  the 
garden  to  help  him  in  his  pruning  and  plant- 
ing, but  by  the  company  of  woman,  taken, 
as  somebody  has  said,  not  from  his  head  to 
overtop  him,  nor  from  his  feet  to  be  trampled 
on,  but  from  under  his  arm  to  be  protected, 
and  from  near  his  heart  to  be  loved  !  That's 
my  doctrine ;  and  therefore  I  dislike  the 
practice  which  some  good  men  pursue,  of 
cutting  themselves  off  from  the  usual  and 
important  socialities  of  refined  and  virtuous 
life. 


THE  POOR  IN  NEW  YORK. 


203 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  POOR  IN  NEW  YORK. 

In  former  chapters  I  have  made  allusions 
to  the  poor  of  the  city,  but  have  given  no 
statement  of  any  systematic  plans  for  their 
relief.  When  I  first  came  from  the  country, 
into  this  great  metropolis,  nothing  made  me 
so  unhappy  as  the  sight  of  misery,  to  which 
[  could  not  shut  my  eyes.  And  when  I 
would  see  a  little  ragged  child  crying  in  the 
street,  his  sorrow  seemed  so  hopeless  and 
helpless,  that  it  would  hang  like  a  cloud 
around  my  heart  for  half  an  hour  !  Not  a 
great  while,  you  say,  for  a  man  to  feel  for 
other's  woes  ;  but  if  we  should  give  more 
than  half  an  hour  to  each  case  of  misery  we 
meet  in  the  city,  we  should  have  a  sorry 
time  of  it.  Sometimes  I  have  sought  to 
offer  comfort  by  inquiring  into  the  cause  of 
grief,  but  have  seldom  been  successful  in 


204 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


reaching  the  source  to  dry  it  up.  Once  I 
recollect  of  meeting  a  little  girl,  some  half 
dozen  years  of  age,  dirty  and  ragged,  crying 
as  if  her  heart  would  break,  and  patting  her 
on  the  head,  I  said  kindly  to  her : — 

"  What's  the  matter,  little  girl  ?" 

11  Mamma's  been  a  lickirC  on  me,"  said 
the  child,  and  very  likely  she  deserved  it. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  city  of  the  same  ex- 
tent in  the  world  where  there  is  less  suffer- 
ing from  poverty  than  in  the  city  of  New 
York. 

A  friend  has  recently  placed  in  my  hands 
the  results  of  his  investigation  into  the  origin, 
progress,  and  efficiency  of  thirty-two  soci- 
eties, the  object  of  which  is  the  relief  of  the 
poor  and  the  needy,  the  sick  and  afflicted, 
in  the  city  of  New  York.  Twenty  of  these 
associations,  in  the  year  1842,  extended 
gratuitous  aid  to  65,955  persons  ;  twelve 
associations  do  not  report  the  number  of 
persons  relieved  ;  and  besides  these  soci- 
eties, there  are  hundreds  of  churches,  and 
many  private  institutions  and  individuals, 


THE  POOR  IN  NEW  \OKK. 


205 


that  extend  important  aid  to  multitudes  not 
embraced  in  the  above  vast  aggregate.  I 
have  not  a  doubt  that  if  the  whole  truth 
were  known,  it  would  appear  that  at  least 
75,000  persons  receive  alms  every  year. 
You  will  not  understand  that  this  number 
is  entirely  dependent  upon  charity.  This 
is  true  of  comparatively  few.  But  is  there 
not  something  that  makes  this  fireside  de- 
lightful beyond  expression,  and  the  heart 
grateful  to  the  Giver  of  all  good,  while  we 
weep  at  the  thought  that  one  fourth  of 
all  the  people  who  live  within  the  limits  of 
this  single  city  are  so  near  to  suffering. 

It  is  no  matter  of  surprise  to  me,  that  so 
many  are  ready  to  doubt  the  correctness  of 
this  statement,  as  to  the  number  of  the  poor 
in  this  city.  I  did  doubt  it  myself  when  I 
first  reached  the  sum,  and  hardly  believed 
the  figures.  You  must,  however,  bear  in 
mind  that  the  manner  in  which  the  register 
is  kept  in  many  of  the  dispensaries,  renders 
the  repetition  of  the  same  name  in  the 
course  of  the  year  unavoidable.  Thus,  if 
18 


206 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


a  man  goes  to  the  city  dispensary  for  medi- 
cine and  advice,  he  receives  it,  and  his 
name  is  entered  on  the  books.  He  applies 
again,  the  next  time  he  is  in  want  of  aid, 
and  again  his  name  is  entered  ;  and  in  the 
course  of  the  year  he  may  have  been  a  fre- 
quent recipient  of  charity.  The  same  man 
may  also  have  gone  to  other  institutions, 
and  from  them  received  alms,  and  there  his 
name  is  also  entered  ;  and  in  this  manner, 
the  aggregate  report  of  these  institutions 
show  an  exaggerated  view  of  the  pauperism 
of  the  city.  I  wish  that  this  explanation 
were  sufficient  to  account  for  the  wonderful 
statement,  and  to  satisfy  the  public  mind 
that  it  is  an  error.  But  I  have  reason  to 
fear  it  will  be  found,  on  the  closest  exami- 
nation, that  a  number,  far  exceeding  the 
calculations  of  the  most  intelligent,  are  liv- 
ing in  our  city  at  the  very  next  door  to  want. 
Understand  me,  I  do  not  say  that  these 
people  are  supported  by  alms.  Nothing 
like  it.  But  I  mean  to  say  that  there  are 
tens  of  thousands  in  this  rich,  young,  and 


THE  POOR  IN  NEW  YORK. 


207 


prosperous  town,  who  are  living  so  near  to 
poverty,  that  if  they  are  sick,  they  go  or 
send  to  the  hospital,  almshouse,  dispensary, 
or  some  kindred  institution,  for  relief;  and 
if  aid  were  not  rendered  by  the  hand  of 
charity,  they  would  probably  suffer. 

You  must  count  the  members  of  churches 
relieved  by  the  society  to  which  they  belong. 
There  are  nearly  two  hundred  churches  in 
this  city,  to  whom  the  prediction  of  the 
Saviour  is  still  fulfilled  :  "  The  poor  ye 
have  with  you  always ;"  and  probably  few 
of  them  afford  aid  to  less  than  ten,  and  some 
of  them  to  far  more  than  that  number,  in  the 
course  of  the  year. 

You  will  now  add  to  this  great  number 
the  uncounted  multitudes  whom  private 
charity  aids,  not  by  indiscriminate  almsgiv- 
ing in  the  street,  or  at  the  door,  but  those 
they  find  who,  like  their  Master,  love  to  go 
about  doing  good ;  and  there  are  thousands 
of  benevolent  men  and  women  who  make  it 
a  part  of  their  religion  to  visit  the  widow 
and  the  fatherless,  to  seek  the  suffering  in 


208 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


their  shrinking  retirement,  and  by  delicate 
inquiry  to  learn  their  wants,  and  pour  the 
sweet  oil  of  tender  love  upon  the  aching 
heart.  I  have  seen  men,  who  perhaps 
would  not  have  it  known,  lest  it  should  dis- 
cover weakness,  who  take  a  basket  on  their 
arm  in  the  morning,  and  pry  into  cellars  and 
garrets  where  there  are  signs  of  poverty,  and 
there  have  the  blessed  satisfaction  of  feed- 
ing the  hungry.  How  many  thousands  in 
this  city  are  relieved  by  these  messengers 
of  mercy,  I  know  not  ;  but  I  do  know  that 
many  will  sneer  at  this  statement,  and  say 
there  are  few  such  angels  among  the  men 
or  women  of  New  York.  Not  so  few  as 
you  think  for,  Mr.  Tightfist.  Because  you 
gathered  your  children  around  you  last 
thanksgiving-day,  and  over  a  royal  feast 
thanked  God  for  your  loaded  table  and  un- 
told mercies,  and  never  thought  of  the  poor 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  your  door,  who 
have  no  table,  but  rejoice  to  get  the  bones 
that  are  flung  from  your  kitchen,  therefore 
you  think  that  everybody  else  is  as  cold- 


THE  POOR  IN  NEW  YORK.  209 


hearted,  and  stingy,  and  merciless,  as  you! 
No,  Mr.  Tightfist,  eat  your  thanksgiving 
dinner,  and  eat  it  all  ;  but  there  are  many 
in  this  world  who  never  relish  a  thanksgiv- 
ing dinner  till  thev  have  made  half  a  dozen 
families  happy  fur  once  at  least. 

Put  all  these  recipients  of  charity  togeth- 
er, and  let  us  look  at  the  aggregate.  I  will 
give  you  a  table  of  statistics,  showing  the 
number  of  persons  relieved  in  this  city  in 


one  year : — 

New  York  Dispensary   22.441 

Northern  Dispensary   10.235 

Eastern  Dispensary   17.004 

Odd-Fellows   18,740 

Female  Assistance  Society  for  the  relief  of 

sick  poor   5,000 

German  Benevolent  Society   4,009 

New  York  Hospital   2,116 

City  Almshouse  Department   54,620 

Aided  hy  Churches  (estimate)   5,000 

Relieved  by  private  charity  (estimate)   10,000 

Society  for  poor  widows  and  small  children. .  3,449 

Other  Societies  not  enumerated  (estimate)..  5,000 


Total   155,614 


The  "  other  societies,"  which  I  have  es- 
IS* 


210 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


timated  as  affording  aid  to  5,000  persons, 
embrace  such  institutions  as  the  11  Lunatic," 
"  Orphan."  and  "  Deaf  and  Dumb"  asy- 
lums, "  Fire-Department  Fund,"  the  "New 
England,"  "  St.  Nicholas,"  "  St.  David's," 
"  St.  Andrew's,"  "  St.  George's,"  and 
"French  Benevolent"  societies,  44  Sailor's," 
"For  the  Relief  of  Aged  Colored  Persons," 
"Friendly  Sons  of  St.  Patrick,"  "Tem- 
perance Benevolent  Associations,"  and 
many  more  from  which  I  have  no  returns. 
You  will  be  ready  to  believe,  as  I  do,  that 
these  societies  afford  assistance  to  five  times 
five  thousand,  and  therefore,  that  my  esti- 
mate is  far  below  the  truth.  Now  there  are 
many  of  the  societies  in  the  table  above  in 
which  there  is  no  probability  that  the  names 
of  beneficiaries  are  repeated,  while  there  are 
others,  as  in  the  almshouse  out-door  relief, 
and  the  dispensaries,  where  it  is  doubtless 
true  that  repetitions  are  numerous.  Let  us 
suppose  that  one  third  of  150.000  have  been 
entered  but  once,  we  have  then  50,000  * 
suppose  that  the  remainder  have  been  en- 


THE  POOR  IN  NEW  YORK. 


211 


tered  each  four  times,  that  is,  has  been  re- 
lieved by  two  or  more  societies,  or  four 
times  by  the  same,  we  will  then  take  a  quar- 
ter of  the  100,000,  and  add  it  to  the  first 
third,  and  we  have  an  aggregate  of  75,000, 
being  more  than  one  in  five  of  the  popula- 
tion of  the  city  of  New  York.  If  you  can 
believe  that  this  is  an  over-estimate,  very 
well  ;  and  if  you,  or  any  one  else,  will 
show  that  there  is  more  repetition  of  names 
than  I  have  supposed,  still  better.  Make 
the  number  as  small  as  you  can;  I  wish  it 
were  less. 

By  these  investigations  it  was  made  evi- 
dent that  there  are  many  wTho  need  relief  to 
whom  it  never  comes,  and  that  some  plan 
should  be  set  on  foot  by  which  judicious  and 
thorough  charity  should  be  made  to  pervade 
every  cellar  and  garret,  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  city;  carrying  in  its  arms  of 
mercy  the  very  aid  required  to  the  very  spot 
where  suffering  has  a  hiding-place.  An  as- 
sociation of  intelligent  philanthropists  was 
accordingly  formed,  and  after  long  delibera- 


212 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


tion  and  careful  comparison  of  facts  and 
opinions,  they  came  to  the  following  con- 
clusions : — 

1.  That  of  the  amount  which  is  annually 
bestowed  on  applicants  for  relief,  a  large 
proportion  falls  into  the  hands  of  unworthy 
objects,  and  that  such  charity  does  more 
harm  than  good. 

2.  That  individuals  either  can  not,  or  at 
least  do  not  generally  make  the  inquiries 
necessary  for  judicious  action,  nor  adapt 
their  action  to  the  case  with  that  reference 
to  the  principles  on  which  alone  can  any 
contributions  to  the  use  of  the  suffering  take 
place,  without  influences  so  injurious  to  the 
individual  and  readily  extended  to  others, 
that  it  has  led  many  to  doubt  whether  refu- 
sal without  exception  to  unknown  applicants 
for  relief  is  not  the  more  humane  course. 

3.  That  there  does  exist  in  this  city  a 
large  amount  of  suffering  and  destitution 
which  in  a  Christian  community  ought  to 
meet  with  relief,  if  it  be  possible  to  devise 


THE  POOH  IN  NEW  YORK. 


213 


any  mode  which  will  in  any  considerable 
degree  avoid  the  evil  usually  attendant. 

4.  That  there  are  good  reasons  to  believe 
that  in  associated  effort  that  mode  can  be 
found. 

These  were  the  conclusions.  What  was 
to  be  done  ?  Mr.  Hartley,  who  had  gather- 
ed these  statistics,  visited  other  cities,  Bos- 
ton, Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  &c,  corre- 
sponded with  benevolent  men  and  associa- 
tions in  yet  other  cities,  gathered  a  mass  of 
facts,  the  result  of  experience  and  wisdom, 
and  finally  a  system  was  elaborated  which 
appears  to  be  the  most  efficient,  and  the 
least  objectionable  of  any  plan  which  has 
ever  been  attempted.  It  combines  the  vital 
principle  of  charity,  that  is  love,  with  the 
degree  of  practical  judgment,  without  which 
so  many  charities  have  been  little  better 
than  prodigalities,  wasting  on  undeserving 
objects  that  which  ought  to  have  been  oil 
and  wine  to  suffering  worth. 

The  experiment  has  had  a  fair  trial,  and 
the  result  thus  far  is  full  of  the  most  sub- 


214 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


stantial  evidence  that  the  thing  will  work 
well.  I  will  give  as  intelligible  a  view  of 
the  system  as  my  limits  will  allow. 

"  Its  primary  object  is  to  discountenance 
indiscriminate  alms-giving,  and  put  an  end 
to  street-begging  and  vagrancy.  Secondly, 
it  proposes  to  visit  the  poor  at  their  dwel- 
lings, carefully  to  examine  their  circum- 
stances and  extend  to  them  appropriate  re- 
lief: and  through  the  friendly  intercourse 
of  visiters,  to  inculcate  among  them  habits 
of  frugality,  temperance,  industry,  and  self- 
dependence. 

"  To  effect  these  important  objects,  the 
city  from  the  battery  to  40th  street,  is  di- 
vided into  sixteen  districts,  which  are  sub- 
divided into  236  sections.  Each  district 
has  a  responsible  committee,  and  each  sec- 
tion an  efficient  visiter.  Connected  with 
the  arrangement  are  a  £eneral  agent,  and  a 
central  office,  where  is  kept  a  register  of  the 
persons  who  receive  aid  from  this  and  other 
benevolent  associations,  and  from  the  city 
authorities.  A  pocket  directory  is  furnished 


THE  POOR  IN  NEW  YORK. 


215 


to  every  member  of  the  association  (that  is, 
every  contributor  to  its  funds),  which  shows 
the  name  and  residence  of  every  visiter, 
and  the  section  committed  to  his  care  ;  also 
printed  tickets  for  referring  mendicants  to 
visiters.  By  this  simple  arrangement  the 
prompt  visitation  and  relief  of  the  poor  are 
secured,  and  the  public  no  longer  constrained 
by  appeals  to  their  humanity,  to  bestow  alms 
on  unknown  applicants,  who  may  be  deserv- 
ing or  otherwise.  Long  experience  has 
shown  the  practice  of  indiscriminate  alms- 
giving to  be  contrary  to  every  sound  prin- 
ciple of  philanthropy  ;  yet  it  has  hitherto 
prevailed  to  a  great  extent,  for  want  of  an 
instrumentality  which  would  protect  the 
claims  of  the  deserving,  while  it  put  an  end 
to  the  impositions  of  the  unworthy.  Such 
an  instrumentality  is  furnished  by  this  asso- 
ciation. By  co-operating  therefore  with  it, 
every  benevolent  individual  may  follow  the 
impulses  of  his  own  heart,  and  contribute 
to  the  comfort  of  his  suffering  fellow-beings 


216 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


without  the  hazard  of  encouraging  Impos- 
ture or  vagrancy." 

Now  for  the  practical  working  of  the 
plan.  Every  kind-hearted  individual  wishes 
to  do  something  for  the  poor.  But,  fearing 
that  he  will  give  to  those  who  ought  not  be 
aided,  he  will  not  drop  a  shilling  into  every 
beggar's  hat,  or  give  a  quarter  to  every  men- 
dicant that  rings  at  his  door.  But  he  gives 
what  he  pleases,  perhaps  a  dollar,  perhaps 
five,  or  a  hundred,  to  this  society,  and  he 
knows  that  every  cent  of  it  will  be  ju- 
diciously and  directly  applied  to  the  relief 
of  the  poor,  with  as  little  danger  of  mistake 
as  attends  any  human  organization.  He 
receives  his  little  book  containing  the  name 
and  residence  of  each  visiter  of  each  dis- 
trict, and  when  an  individual  applies  to  him 
for  aid,  he  inquires  the  name  and  place  of 
abode.  Suppose  the  applicant's  name  to 
be  Nahum  Dixill,  staying  at  35  Cross  street. 
He  opens  his  directory  to  Cross  street,  and 
finds  that  the  visiter  for  that  street  13  Mr.  E. 


THE  POOR  IN  NEW  YORK. 


217 


P.  Woodruff,  residing  at  549  Pearl  street, 
and  taking  a  card  he  fills  it  out  as  below: — 

Mr.  E.  P.  Woodruff,  visiter,  No.  549  Pearl 
street,  is  requested  to  visit  Nahum  Dixill,  at  No. 

35  Cross  street.       (Signed,)       A.  B  , 

Member  N.  Y.  Association  for  the  Improve 

ment  of  the  Condition  of  the  Poor. 

The  applicant  takes  this  card  and  proceeds 
to  the  visiter,  who  has  engaged  to  attend  to 
all  the  calls  for  that  district.  He  imme- 
diately looks  into  the  case,  and  having 
learned  what  is  wanted,  and  how  much,  gives 
the  necessary  relief,  either  on  the  spot,  or 
by  an  order  on  the  depository,  that  will  be 
more  permanent  and  efficacious.  In  this 
plan  I  can  see  nothing  defective,  if  there 
can  be  found  a  corps  of  visiters  with  suffi- 
cient benevolence  of  soul  to  perform  this 
service.  And  it  seems,  to  the  honour  of 
human  nature  be  it  said,  that  out  of  three  or 
four  hundred  thousand  people  in  this  city, 
there  are  three  hundred  men  who  are  wil- 
ling, for  the  sake  of  Christ  and  the  poor, 
to  go  about  doing  good;  and  I  do  not 
19 


218 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


doubt  that  five  hundred  or  a  thousand  might 
be  found,  who  would  take  upon  themselves 
this  duty,  finding  their  reward  in  the  sweet 
consciousness  of  causing  the  afflicted  to  sing 
for  joy.  These  visiters  not  only  attend  to 
any  calls  that  may  be  addressed  to  them, 
but  they  search  their  own  district  to  ascer- 
tain if  there  is  any  need  of  their  aid,  and 
thus  there  is  reasonable  ground  to  believe 
that  if  the  system  were  adopted,  and  the 
citizens  generally  would  become  members 
of  the  association,  substantial  relief  would 
be  extended  to  every  deserving  object  of 
charity  within  the  bounds  of  the  metropolis. 

And  now,  does  it  not  make  you  love 
your  species  more  to  find  them  thus  labour- 
ing to  relieve  each  other's  woes  ?  "  Man's 
inhumanity  to  man"  has  made  us  blush  a 
thousand  times.  Is  it  not  pleasant  to  know 
that  there  are  those  who  love  to  do  good, 
who  deny  themselves  and  take  up  the  cross, 
and  silently,  and  beyond  the  reach  of  hu- 
man praise,  content  with  the  "  God  bless 
you"  of  the  poor,  penetrate  the  lurking- 


THE  POOR  IN  NEW  YORK. 


219 


places  of  wretchedness,  and  carry  comfort 
to  them  that  mourn. 

With  such  a  corps  of  devoted  and  faith- 
ful visiters  traversing  the  streets,  and  lanes, 
and  alleys,  on  errands  of  mercy,  we  may 
well  believe  that  a  system  is  in  operation 
more  worthy  of  adoption,  and  less  liable  to 
objection,  than  any  which  has  yet  been  set 
on  foot  in  this  or  any  other  city.  I  can 
readily  see  that  these  visiters  will  sometimes 
be  deceived  by  appearances,  and  withhold 
relief  from  the  worthy  poor,  and  bestow  it 
on  the  undeserving.  The  abode  of  dire 
poverty  may  sometimes  wear  the  appear- 
ance of  neatness  and  comparative  comfort  ; 
and  this  very  fact  may  be  construed  as  evi- 
dence that  the  inmates  are  not  absolutely 
destitute,  while  squalid  filth  may  move  the 
sympathy  of  a  visiter,  and  extort  alms  for 
objects  that  rather  deserve  punishment. 
Here  is  occasion  for  the  exercise  of  sound 
discretion  ;  and  on  the  fidelity  of  these  self- 
denying  and  thankworthy  visiters  in  their 


220 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


labors  of  love,  depends  the  usefulness  of 
this  great  institution. 

In  the  course  of  their  travels  they  meet 
with  cases,  to  read  of  which  would  make 
your  heart  ache.  The  reverses  of  fortune 
in  the  last  eight  years  present  some  instan- 
ces of  sorrowful  contrast,  which  those  who 
have  always  been  poor  or  always  rich  can 
not  possibly  appreciate.  What  would  you 
think  of  a  family,  that  ten  years  ago  rolled 
through  Broadway  in  their  carriage,  and 
lived  in  luxury,  now  huddling  together  in  a 
coal-hole;  the  head  of  the  family  there  pros- 
trate with  sickness,  and  not  a  friend  to  min- 
ister to  their  wants.  It  would  be  very  easy 
to  make  a  tale  out  of  this  that  would  move 
the  heart ;  but  what  more  eloquent  than  the 
thought  that  follows  this  group  into  their 
dark  hiding-place,  and  there  views  them  in 
loneliness,  sickness,  hunger  —  what  else  is 
wanting  to  complete  the  home  of  wretched- 
ness !  May  God  keep  us  ever  from  being 
so  poor. 

A  poor  widow  was  asked  on  Saturday 


THE  POOR  IN  NEW  YORK. 


221 


evening  if  she  was  in  need  of  aid.  She  said 
that  she  had  food  enough  to  last  until  Mon- 
day, when  she  should  be  utterly  destitute. 
The  visiter  called  on  Monday,  and  found 
her  exhausted  for  want  of  food ;  and  what, 
think  you,  was  the  occasion  of  her  suffer- 
ing? A  widow,  whose  necessity  was  greater 
than  hers,  had  called  on  her,  and  she  had 
divided  her  living  with  her  suffering  sister! 
The  poor  love  to  help  the  poor  ;  they  know 
how  to  feel  for  them,  having  been  tempted 
in  all  points  like  them. 

There  are  many  families  in  this  city  that 
live  in  underground  apartments,  where  a  ray 
of  sunshine  never  travels ;  and  as  you  pass, 
of  a  pleasant  day,  you  may  often  see  the 
children,  who  have  been  brought  up  for  air, 
sunning  themselves  like  turtles.  The  ways 
and  means  the  poor  of  the  city  have  for 
"  getting  a  living,"  would  afford  a  curious 
subject  of  investigation.  We  sometimes 
think  that  the  old  women  who  sell  apples 
at  the  corners  of  streets  must  have  as  hard 
a  time  of  it  as  any  ;  but  they  often  make 
19* 


222 


LIFE  HI  THE  CITY. 


money  by  it.    A  friend  of  mine  told  me  the 
other  day,  that  he  knew  a  man  who  made  a 
thousand  dollars  in  the  course  of  a  single 
year  by  an  apple  stall,  and  if  competition  is 
a  sign  of  business  being  lively,  this  certainly 
is  a  thriving  trade.    There  are  seventy-six 
shops  in  the  city,  where  those  who  are  liard- 
up  may  take  what  they  have  got,  or  what 
they  can  lay  their  hands  on,  and  exchange 
it  for  half  or  a  quarter  of  its  value.    A  feel- 
ing man  will  learn  a  long  chapter  of  life  in 
New  York  by  just  calling,  toward  night  of  a 
cold  day,  at  one  of  the  many  pawnbrokers' 
in  Chatham  street.    He  will  see  a  row  of 
stalls,  so  arranged  that  each  customer  can 
transact  his  business  without  being  in  con- 
tact with  another.    A  young  woman  will 
steal  in  with  a  quick  step,  and  in  a  low  tone 
of  voice  will  ask  what  she  can  be  allowed 
on  that  cloak,  which,  with  trembling  fingers, 
she  proceeds  to  unfold  from  a  bundle  she 
has  brought.    While  this  is  going  on,  a  col- 
ored woman  will  enter  and  deposite  a  spoon, 
perhaps  half  a  dozen  spoons,  which  she  has 


THE  POOR   IN  NEW  YORK. 


223 


been  sent  with  by  some  one  who  will  keep 
a  servant,  though  she  mvst  part  with  her  sil- 
ver ;  and  then  comes  a  man,  a  strong  man, 
and  pledges  a  flute,  or  a  picture,  and  takes 
a  few  shillings,  and  marches  away  in  silence 
and  sorrow.  There  may  be  no  sighs  or 
tears  in  a  pawnbroker's  shop,  but  heavy 
hearts  are  there  daily. 

Many  people  in  New  York  will  not  know 
what  I  mean  by  an  "  old-junk  dealer  ;"  but 
there  are  forty  shops  licensed  for  the  busi- 
ness, which  is  the  purchase  of  all  manner 
of  odds  and  ends  of  everything  under  the 
sun,  that  anybody  wants  to  sell,  and,  you 
would  think,  nobody  wants  to  buy.  In  these 
places  you  will  find  old  iron,  old  and  odd 
crockery,  old  furniture,  old  everything  you 
can  think  of;  and  these  are  the  shops  where 
the  thieving  boys  find  a  market  for  their  pet- 
ty spoils,  and  the  poor  for  what  marketable 
articles  may  be  given  them  in  their  levying 
vagrancies  through  the  streets.  Often  you 
may  see  an  old  woman  pawing  over  a  heap 
of  dirt,  thrown  from  an  office  into  the  street, 


224 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


and  picking  out  every  little  article  that  by 
any  possibility  can  be  turned  into  money. 
There  goes  an  old  man,  with  a  hooked  wire, 
with  which  he  catches  up  every  rag  that  is 
in  the  gutter,  which  he  deposites  in  a  bag  on 
his  back  ;  these  he  carries  to  the  river,  and 
washes  for  sale.  Here  is  a  man  with  a 
handcart,  gathering  bones  in  the  alleys  ; 
part  of  them  are  worth  boiling  for  soup,  the 
rest  will  find  a  market.  These  are  a  few 
only  of  the  ways  and  means  of  living  in  the 
city,  and  it  would  be  impossible  to  give  a 
complete  picture  of  the  interior  life  of  the 
metropolis,  without  revealing  scenes  from 
which  delicacy  shrinks,  and  which  must  be 
for  ever  unseen  by  the  public  eye. 


CHRISTMAS  AND  NEW-YEAR's.  225 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CHRISTMAS  AND  NEW-YEAR's. 

My  readers  in  the  country  know  that 
these  are  great  days  there  as  well  as  here  ; 
and  they  will  bear  with  me  when  I  tell  them 
of  the  way  we  celebrate  these  annual  festi- 
vals. When  I  was  young,  the  holydays  in 
the  country  were  well  kept,  and  the  only 
regret  we  ever  felt  about  those  days,  was 
caused  by  the  fact  that  they  came  only  once 
a  year.  They  come  no  oftener  now,  which 
fact  I  mention  without  the  fear  of  an  alma- 
nac to  disprove  the  assertion  ;  but  they  come 
more  rapidly.  And  now  that  another  sea- 
son of  pleasure  and  pastime  is  just  at  hand, 
it  seems  but  yesterday  that  Christmas  was 
here.  So  the  years  rush  away  ;  one  pres- 
ses on  the  heel  of  another,  and  the  great 
tomb  of  ages  gathers  them  all. 


226 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


I  was  about  to  speak  of  the  way  in  which 
the  last  holydays  passed  off  in  this  gay  city. 
And  first  among  the  churches.  Those  of 
the  episcopal  and  Roman  catholic  denom- 
inations are  always  opened,  that  day  being 
regarded  by  them  as  the  anniversary  of  the 
birth  of  Christ.  The  churches  are  dressed 
with  evergreens,  from  the  country  forests, 
wreaths  encircling  the  pillars,  huge  crosses 
of  greens  standing  on  the  walls,  festoons 
and  stars  arranged  with  taste,  if  taste  it  may 
be  called  that  thus  expresses  joy  in  temples 
built  for  the  spiritual  worship  of  the  living 
God.  But  I  am  not  finding  fault  with  it. 
They  cut  down  branches  and  strewed  them 
in  the  way,  when  the  Son  of  man  came 
riding  on  an  ass,  and  I  suppose  those  who 
cut  down  branches  and  put  them  up  in  their 
churches,  intend  to  honour  the  advent  of 
the  Saviour.  And  though  I  can  see  no  fit- 
ness in  the  thing,  and  to  others  it  may  ap- 
pear foolish,  I  will  respect  the  customs  01 
those  who,  in  their  own  way,  love  to  pay 


CHRISTMAS  AND  NEW-TEAR's. 


227 


homage  to  the  Lord  of  glory,  the  babe  of 
Bethlehem. 

The  last  Christmas  was  one  of  the  sweet- 
est winter  days  I  ever  knew.  The  various 
places  of  amusement  were  thronged  by  the 
younger  classes,  and  the  streets  never 
seemed  to  me  to  show  more  signs  of  life 
and  pleasure,  though  the  stores  were  chiefly 
closed.  As  I  was  walking  in  Broadway 
near  St.  Paul's,  the  crowds  of  people  hur- 
rying up  and  down  on  the  walks,  the  car- 
riages of  all  classes  and  names  in  the  streets 
jostling  each  other,  so  that  crossing  was  next 
to  impossible,  gave  to  the  scene  more  than 
its  usual  appearance  of  "  confusion  worse 
confounded."  I  was  marking  the  pleasure 
which  seemed  to  beam  in  the  smiles  of  all 
I  met,  and  of  the  thousands  happy  in  the 
return  of  this  season  of  mirth,  when  a 
hearse,  followed  by  six  or  seven  carriages 
of  mourners,  moved  through  the  crowded 
street,  reminding  me  of  Mrs.  Hemans' 
words  : — 

"  Thou  hast  all  seasons  for  thine  own,  oh  Death!" 


228 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


This  was  my  reflection,  as  two  young  men 
passed  me,  and  one  of  them  said  to  the 
other,  as  they  looked  at  the  funeral, 
"  They're  going  to  put  somebody  to  bed 
with  a  shovel."  My  blood  chilled  at  the 
heartless ness  of  the  remark,  and  I  felt 
ashamed  to  think  that  there  was  in  the  like- 
ness of  man  a  thing  that  could  make  such 
cruel  mockery  of  death's  doings.  I  wanted 
to  give  the  wretch  such  a  blow  as  I  gave  a 
man  on  the  wharf  a  fortnight  ago.  It  was 
a  bitter  cold  morning,  the  coldest  of  last 
winter,  and  I  was  down  early  at  the  river, 
waiting  for  a  steamboat  to  come  in.  A  well- 
dressed  man,  there  with  others  on  the  same 
errand,  was  fretting  at  the  cold  and  giving 
vent  to  his  impatience,  as  if  we  cared  to 
hear  his  complaints.  At  length  he  muttered 
out:  "I  declare,  if  it  wasn't  so  cold,  I'd 
jump  off  the  dock  and  done  with  it."  I 
looked  at  him  and  quietly  observed  :  "  You 
will  find  it  hot  enough  afterward,  sir  ;  per- 
haps you  had  better  try  it."  The  man  was 
hit;  the  bystanders  smiled  at  his  confusion, 


CHRISTMAS  AND  NEW-YEAR's. 


229 


and  he  slid  silently  away,  so  that  we  heard 
no  more  of  his  grumblings. 

But  I  was  speaking  of  Christmas.  It  was 
nearly  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  I 
turned  down  Barclay  street  to  St.  Peter's 
cathedral.  Though  not  the  largest,  it  is 
one  of  the  most  splendid  of  the  Romish 
churches  in  this  city.  A  statue  of  St.  Pe- 
ter holding  the  keys  is  over  the  front  door, 
his  big  toe  ominously  projecting  beyond  the 
pedestal,  and  the  interior  is  finished  in  ele- 
gant style.  A  vast  crowd  wras  assembling; 
it  soon  became  too  great  for  the  building, 
and  the  worshippers  kneeled  upon  the  stone 
steps  on  the  outside,  opened  their  prayer- 
books,  and  proceeded  with  their  devotions, 
with  as  much  apparent  fervor  as  if  they  were 
nearer  the  altar,  and  in  sight  of  the  great 
painting  of  the  crucifixion  scene,  which 
hangs  over  it,  to  touch  the  sympathies  of 
the  devotees.  The  rich  tones  of  the  organ 
fell  on  my  soul,  as  I  crowded  through  the 
mass  of  men  at  the  door ;  the  brilliant  light 
of  multitudes  of  wax  candles  burning  at  the 
20 


230 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


altar  gave  a  singular  appearance  to  the  scene 
within,  and  just  as  I  entered,  two  boys, 
"  clothed  in  white  raiment,"  ascended  the 
steps  within  the  chancel  swinging  their  cen- 
sers ;  the  priest  then  advanced,  displaying 
on  his  back,  which  was  toward  the  people, 
a  magnificent  cross  of  his  whole  length 
wrought  on  his  surplice  in  gold  ;  he  walked 
up  to  each  of  the  branching  candlesticks 
and  offered  incense,  while  the  silent  multi- 
tudes looked  reverently  on,  as  if  God  were 
pleased  with  the  smoking  sacrifice.  "  Per- 
fectly pagan,  is  it  not?"  said  I  to  a  friend 
who  had  strayed  in  from  the  same  unworthy 
motive  that  had  brought  me  there  ;  and  we 
came  away  mourning  over  the  darkness  of 
idolatry  that  reigns  in  the  midst  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  in  the  city  of  New  York. 

A  few  minutes  afterward  I  was  in  a  French 
protestant  episcopal  church,  where  a  little 
company,  perhaps  a  hundred,  were  assem- 
bled. The  church  is  a  beautiful  structure, 
and  was  tastefully  decorated  with  ever- 
greens ;  the  pastor  read  the  service  in  the 


CHRISTMAS  AND  NEW-YEAR's.  231 


French  language,  and  the  congregation  re- 
sponded in  the  same  tongue.  The  effect 
was  pleasing  ;  and  I  thought  of  the  time 
when  the  nations  of  the  earth,  each  in  their 
own  dialect,  shall  celebrate  the  praise  of  Je- 
sus of  Nazareth  !  Glorious  time  !  Is  not 
the  dawn  now  breaking  in  the  East? 

During  the  day,  the  children  of  various 
presbyterian  and  other  churches  were  as- 
sembled in  their  respective  places  of  wor- 
ship, addresses  were  made,  and  Christmas 
presents  given  —  an  occasion  long  to  be  re- 
membered and  richly  prized  by  the  groups 
of  little  ones  whom  1  met,  with  a  cake  in 
one  hand  and  a  book  in  the  other,  which 
they  had  just  received  as  a  token  of  their 
teacher's  affection,  and  a  reward  of  their 
own  diligence. 

You  know  the  customs  of  society  in  the 
city  on  new-year's  day.  For  many  years 
past,  the  fashion  has  been  growing,  and 
drawing  more  classes  of  society  into  it  from 
year  to  year,  of  devoting  the  day  to  making 
social  calls,  by  the  gentlemen,  of  a  few 


232 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


moments  only,  on  the  whole  circle  of  their 
visiting  friends.  The  ladies  at  home  are 
sitting  up  to  receive  their  company,  who 
are  treated  to  refreshments,  and  remain  just 
long  enough  to  exchange  the  compliments 
of  the  season,  and  then  hasten  on  in  their 
pilgrimage  of  pleasure.  Were  it  not  for 
the  temptations  of  the  refreshment  table,  this 
practice  would  be  at  once  innocent  and  de- 
lightful, giving  an  opportunity  for  a  brief 
and  pleasing  recognition  of  acquaintance, 
under  circumstances  that  shed  a  charm  over 
the  face  of  society,  soften  many  of  its  asperi- 
ties, consign  to  forgetfulness  slight  aliena- 
tions of  the  past  year,  and  open  the  new 
with  a  general  declaration  of  friendship.  It 
brings  together  also  for  a  moment  those 
whom  duties  during  the  year  have  not  allow- 
ed to  meet,  so  that  it  often  gives  rise  to  the 
remark,  that  one  finds  out  who  his  friends 
are  when  the  new  year  comes. 

There  is  but  one  drawback  to  this  fashion ; 
but  one  accompaniment  that  renders  it  of 
questionablr  propriety :  and  I  am  free  to 


CHRISTMAS  AND  NEW-YEAR's.  233 

say  that  it  often  more  than  balances  all  that 
I  have  said  or  can  say  in  favour  of  the  city 
customs  of  new-year's  day.  If  our  wives 
and  daughters,  and  magistrates,  will  compel 
our  young  men  to  "look  upon  the  wine 
when  it  is  red,  when  it  giveth  its  colour  in 
the  cup,"  if  the  hand  of  beauty  presents  the 
sparkling  glass,  and  the  lips  of  beauty  invite 
the  young  to  drink  (temptations,  few  can 
resist),  then,  I  say,  the  evils  are  more  than 
all  that  can  be  urged  in  its  defence,  and  it 
ou2;ht  to  be  discountenanced  and  abandon- 
ed.  The  number  of  those  who  have  laid 
the  foundations  of  intemperance  on  this 
day.  eternity  alone  can  reveal.  It  has  been 
said  *hat  the  practice  of  furnishing  wines  on 
this  occasion  has  been  going  out  of  fashion 
of  late  years.  I  hope  it  is  so.  But  the 
practice  is  still  continued  in  thousands  of 
religious  families,  and  if  there,  of  course  also 
in  most  of  those  on  whom  the  example  of 
the  apostle  in  eating  meat  and  drinking  wine 
has  exerted  no  power. 

20* 


234 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITT. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  CONCLUSION. 

And  here  we  leave  these  sketches  of  life 
in  the  city.  It  has  its  lights  and  shades, 
but  more  shade  than  sunshine,  doubtless  the 
reader  has  thought  as  he  has  followed  me 
through  these  chapters.  And  the  contrast 
is  none  the  more  striking  on  these  pages 
than  it  is  in  the  streets.  The  rich  and  the 
poor  meet  together  as  they  do  in  the  grave. 
Extremes  are  always  coming  in  contact.  It 
is  but  a  step  from  the  mansion  where  wealth 
gathers  its  luxuries,  to  the  cellar  or  garret 
where  hunger  gnaws  and  cold  pinches :  from 
the  gorgeous  temple  where  worship  goes  up 
from  purple  cushions,  to  the  cell  where  guilt 
and  wretchedness  curse  and  groan.  We 
have  been  at  the  asylum  where  misery  loses 
its  sting,  and  the  heart  with  anguish  torn 


THE  CONCLUSION. 


235 


finds  oil  and  wine  for  its  wounds,  and  while 
the  misery  pains  the  heart  of  sympathy,  there 
is  comfort  in  the  thought  that  it  has  found 
friends  to  minister  for  its  relief. 

I  have  not  always  lived  in  the  city.  Up 
in  the  country  was  my  birthplace,  and  years 
of  childhood  and  youth  in  the  green  hills 
are  remembered  with  the  freshness  of  yes- 
terday; and  never  does  a  day  pass  over  my 
head,  that  I  do  not  sigh  in  secret  for  the 
time  when  I  may  break  away  from  this  wil- 
derness of  walls,  and  find  a  lodge  in  another 
where  nature  is  the  builder,  and  the  great 
world  is  the  temple  of  his  workmanship  and 
praise. 

Last  winter,  in  the  very  dead  of  it,  when 
the  city  is  chosen  as  the  resort  of  those  who 
seek  pleasure,  and  the  country  is  forsaken 
as  cheerless  and  scarcely  habitable,  1  drop- 
ped my  work,  and  fled  out  into  the  wide 
world.  It  was  a  journey  of  a  day  or  two  to 
travel  a  hundred  miles  into  the  interior,  in 
search  of  a  friend  who  called  me  to  spend  a 
few  social  days  at  his  fireside.   But  in  spite 


236 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


of  the  cold  and  the  storm,  both  of  which  I 
had  abundantly  on  the  way,  I  found  his 
house  and  his  heart.  It  was  late  at  night 
when  I  reached  the  end  of  my  journey,  and 
a  long  night's  rest  was  the  best  restorer  of 
wasted  strength. 

When  I  arose  the  next  morning,  the  sun 
was  high  in  the  heavens,  the  storm  was  past, 
and  a  scene  of  dazzling  magnificence  and 
beauty  was  spread  before  my  chamber  win- 
dow. The  house  commands  a  country 
landscape  of  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  in  every 
direction,  mountain  and  valley,  woods  and 
running  streams.  For  some  weeks  the 
whole  had  been  clothed  with  snow  a  few 
inches  in  depth  ;  the  rain  of  yesterday 
freezing  on  the  surface  had  covered  it  with 
a  glare  of  ice,  and  now,  in  the  clear,  cold 
air  of  a  winter  morning,  the  bright  sun 
poured  a  flood  of  glory  over  the  vast  field 
before  me.  Every  twig  of  every  tree  was 
a  pendent  jewel  sparkling  in  the  sunlight ; 
the  stubble,  which  the  snow  had  not  cov- 
ered, glistened  like  diamonds  strewn  upon 


THE  CONCLUSION. 


237 


a  limitless  mirror  of  gold  ;  even  the  fences, 
clothed  in  ice,  shone  like  lines  of  light 
through  the  wide  expanse,  and  all  nature 
seemed  to  leap  and  dance  for  joy  as  in  the 
morning  of  a  new  existence.  "  Great  glory 
this  !"  said  I  to  my  friend,  as  he  startled 
me  from  my  revelling  in  the  grandeur  of 
his  own  winter  scenery.  "  Yes,"  said  he, 
"  this  is  winter  in  the  country." 

Toward  night  I  was  sitting  in  the  back 
parlor,  looking  out  upon  the  wide  prospect 
of  hill,  and  vale,  and  forest.  The  sombre 
clouds  obscured  the  winter  sky,  and  the 
vast  fields  of  snow  lay  like  an  infinite  wind- 
ing sheet  over  the  cold  form  of  lifeless  na- 
ture. I  began  to  be  sad.  How  dreary, 
cheerless,  desolate,  is  the  world  in  winter ! 
—  when,  lo,  the  farthest  hill-top  smiled,  as 
if  heaven  had  let  down  a  ray  or  two  of 
glory  to  play  awhile  upon  the  summit :  soon 
the  great  sun  rolled  from  behind  the  clouds, 
and  poured  a  full  tide  of  golden  splendor, 
dazzling  and  ravishing,  over  the  world.  I 
did  not  know  that  winter  could  be  so  beau- 


238 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


tiful ;  that  death  could  have  so  much  of 
life  ;  that  a  winding-sheet  could  be  so  soon 
converted  into  white  raiment,  radiant  with 
celestial  brightness  ;  yet  was  this  the  glory 
of  nature  in  the  winter !  This  was  gran- 
deur and  magnificence,  the  like  of  which  we 
have  not  in  the  city,  and  which  brings  to 
the  admirer  of  nature  pure  and  elevated  joy. 

But  our  thoughts  of  the  country,  and  the 
yearnings  of  the  heart  we  feel  for  it,  are  linked 
with  the  summer  scenery  —  the  mountain 
and  the  stream,  the  flowers  and  fields  all 
fresh  from  the  hand  of  God,  and  redolent 
of  his  praise.  And  the  autumn,  too,  when 
the  hillside  forest  is  covered  with  splendid 
robes,  of  colors  varied  and  lustrous,  which 
no  painter's  skill  may  imitate. 

There  too  are  social  joys,  the  like  of  which 
we  can  not  have  in  such  a  crowd  as  this  — 

"For  happiness  and  true  philosophy 
Are  of  the  social,  still  and  smiling  kind. 
This  is  the  life  which  those  who  fret  in  guilt, 
And  guilty  cities,  never  knew  ;  the  life 
Led  hy  primeval  ages,  uncorrupt, 
When  angels  dwelt,  and  God  himself,  with  man." 


THE  CONCLUSION. 


239 


And  as  the  Latin  poet  has  said,  that  he  who 
ploughs  the  sea  often  wishes  that  he  were  a 
happy  landsman,  and  the  man  of  the  fields 
often  thinks  he  would  love  to  try  the  seas, 
so  those  of  us  who  are  pent  up  in  the  city 
sigh  after  the  dear  delights  of  life  in  the 
country,  and  they  doubtless  who  are  always 
there,  sometimes  wish  that  they  were  here. 
But  this  is  human  nature.  Providence  has 
a  place  for  each  of  us,  and  it  is  well  if  we 
have  grace  to  find  our  place  to  keep  it. 

There  is  work  enough  for  us  here  in  this 
city.  It  is  a  world  in  itself.  There  are 
sinners  here  as  deep  in  the  ruins  of  the  fall 
as  there  are  in  China,  and  the  spirit  of  the 
gospel  should  prompt  us  to  seek  them  out, 
and  save  them.  If  we  can  not  live  in  the 
city  for  the  pleasure  of  life  in  its  streets,  we 
may  live  here  as  those  do  who  are  sent  with 
messages  of  mercy  to  the  heathen.  We  can 
live  here  to  do  good  :  to  scatter  blessings  in 
our  own  paths,  that  shall  serve  instead  of  the 
flowers  we  should  find  in  the  fields  of  a  coun- 
try home. 


240 


LIFE  IN  THE  CITY. 


But  there  is  a  city  in  which  it  will  be  glo- 
rious to  dwell.  It  hath  foundations  of  pre- 
cious stones  :  its  streets  are  gold,  its  gates 
are  pearl :  its  builder  and  maker  is  God ! 
There  shall  not  enter  it  anything  that  defi- 
leth  or  worketh  abomination.  Its  inhabitants 
are  holy  :  its  air  is  pure  :  its  light  is  the 
smile  of  Him  who  reigns  in  it  for  ever. 

"  O  when,  thou  city  of  my  God, 
Shall  I  thy  courts  ascend  ?" 


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FLORENCE  Egerton ;  or.  Sunshine  and  Shadow.    Illustrated.  75 

FOLLOW  Jesus.    By  the  author  of  -  Come  to  Jesus"   25 

FORD'S  Decapolis.    ISmo..   25 


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FOSTER'S  Essays  on  the  Evils  of  Popular  Ignorance.    12ino...  75 

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GOODE'S  Better  Covenant   CO 

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carters'  publications.  7 


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MOFFAT'S  Southern  Africa.    12mo   75 

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8  carters'  publications. 


MORE'S  (Hannah)  Private  Devotion.   ISmo.   53 

Do.             do.             do.             82mo.  20  cents.    Gilt...  30 

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MORNING  and  Night  Watches   60 

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MY  School-Boy  Days.    ISnio.   Illustrated   80 

MY  Youthful  Companions.    ISmo   Illustrated   30 

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Pithy  Papers — Pleasant  Tales — North  American  Indians. 

12  vols.   ISmo.   Each   40 

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PEARSON  on  Infidelity.   Fine  edition.   Svo.  $2.    Cheap  ed...  60 

PEEP  of  Day   30 

»  By  Hie  same  Auilwr : — 

LINE  upon  Line   30 

PRECEPT  on  Precept   30 

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FAR  OfF   50 

SCRIPTURE  Facts   50 

PHILIP'S  Devotional  Guides.   2  vols   1  50 

.          Young  Man's  Closet  Library   75 


carters'  publications.  9 


PHILIP'S  Mary's,  Martha's,  Lydia's  and  Hannah's  Lovo  of  tho 

Spirit.  Each   4() 

PIKE'S  True  llappiiuv-.    bmo   go 

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 Bdph  Genuine]]           "        «  25 

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PRAYERS  of  M.  Paul   16mo   75 

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SAPIIIR  (Thilip)  Life  of  \\ 30 

SCHMIDS  Hundred  Short  Taks   50 

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10  carters'  publications. 


SIGOURNEY'S  Memoir  of  Mrs.  L.  H.  Cook   75 

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 Rich  Kinsman   1  CO 


carters'  publications. 


11 


TTNG'S  Recollections  of  England.    12uio.   100 

  C  hristian  Titles   75 

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WARDLAW  on  Miracles   75 

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WINSLOW  on  Personal  Declension  and  Revival   GO 

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BOOKS  NOT  STEREOTYPED. 


BICKERSTETII'S  Works.   1G  vols.    16mo   10  00 

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FINN  FY'S  Make  the  Best  of  Roth  Worlds   GO 

BRIDGES'  Alanual  for  the  Young   50 

BUXTON  (Sir  T.  F.),  A  Study  for  Young  Men   50 

CHART  of  Sacred  History.    Folio   150 

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  Four  Witnesses   2  00 

EADIE  on  Colossians    

  on  Ephesians   3  00 

FLETCHER'S  Addresses  to  the  Young   60 

HALL'S  Forum  and  the  Vatican   1  00 

HEWITSON'S  Remains.    2  vols   2  00 


12 


carters'  publications. 


HOWELL'S  Remains   75 

LONDON  Lectures  to  Young  Men,  1853-4   1  ,  j 

1 854-5   1,0 

M  ALAN'S  Pictures  from  Switzerland   <; , 

OWEN'S  Works.   16  vols.    8vo   20(  0 

PRATT  (Josiah)  Memoirs  of   1  Ma 

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VILLAGE  Churchyard.    18mo   40 

 Pastor.    J8mo   40 

  Observer.    ISmo   30 

WILSON  (Prof.),  The  Forester,  a  Tale   75 

WORDS  to  Win  Souls.    12mo   75 


THE  FIRESIDE  SERIES. 
A  Series  of  beautiful  volumes  of  the  Narrative  kind,  uniform  in  bind- 
ing, and  prettily  Illustrated.    18mo.    Price  50  cents  each. 
The  following  are  now  ready  : 
MABEL  GRANT.  A  Highland  Story. 
THE  WOODCUTTER  OF  LEBANON. 
LOUIS  AND  FRANK. 
CLARA  STANLEY.    A  Story  for  Girls. 
THE  CLAREMONT  TALES. 
THE  CONVENT.    By  Miss  M'Crindell. 
FAR  OFF.   By  the  author  of  the  "  Peep  of  Day." 
NEAR  HOME.   By  the  same  author. 
HAPPY  HOME.    By  Dr.  Hamilton. 
JAMIE  GORDON;  or,  the  Orphan. 
THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  MANSE.   By  Mrs.  Duncan. 
TALES  OF  THE  SCOTTISH  PEASANTRY. 
SCHOOL  DAYS  AND  COMPANIONS. 
THE  INDIAN  TRIBES  OF  GUIANA. 
HOLIDAY  HOUSE.    By  Miss  Sinclair. 
OLIVE  LEAVES.   By  Mrs.  Sigourney. 
BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 
POLLOK'S  TALES  OF  THE  COVENANTERS. 
THE  RAINBOW  IN  THE  NORTH. 
THE  INFANT'S  PROGRESS.    By  Mrs.  Sherwood, 
THE  WORLD  OF  WATERS. 
BLOSSOMS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 
MAY  DUNDAS.   A  Tale. 
ABBEOKUTA;  or,  Sunrise  ir  +he  Tropics. 
THE  FAMILY  AT  HEATFEjSDALE. 


